Me, My Bro, and Brawl
by Fleet of the Wind
Summary: What they should really put on the back of the game? WARNING: In a series of random and unfortunate events—a Wii may or may not become possessed and FREAKING SUCK YOU INTO THE GAME. Greeeeat. Now I'm stuck in Subspace Emissary with my six-year old bro. How to get out? Beat the game, of course! ...I am so screwed
1. Intense Mode

**Sup!' I've had this idea for a while now. My brother and I have played Subspace Emissary for about a year now—finding ourselves with the dilemma the heroine of this story is first confronted with: Beating Subspace Emissary on Intense mode with a six-year old trailing behind. Like the heroine, I was stuck FOREVER on the part where Samus and Pikachu team up in order to get Samus's suit back. :D Being the writer I am, I wondered—HEY. What if there was some secret glitch in the game that sucked the players into it? What if they got turned into the characters—and have to beat the game or die trying? (Spoiler alert)—and so Me, My Brother, and Brawl came to be. :3 I really hope you read on and get as attached to these characters as much as I have.**

**-cough- Well. Without further ado—I present to you—!**

* * *

**********IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Me, My Bro, and Brawl.**

_Fleet of the Wind_

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

According to my English teacher, an older lady with a strange taste in hairstyles, every story has to have some sort of point to it.

The story has to have a purpose in life—whether to teach you, to entertain you, or something I haven't mentioned. My teacher would probably already be ticked off with my oh-so-creative title, and then telling her my 'purpose' or 'theme' to my story would no doubt either fail or seriously make my grade plummet. (good thing this isn't an English grade then, eh?)

Well, I guess you could call the purpose of my story as a warning.

Yes, that's right. A warning.

Now most of you are probably thinking, _what_? What the heck can a _KID_ warn me about?

Well, you see—I'm not just warning you about one thing. I'm warning you about _many _things. The many unparallel lies hidden in a game, and the dangers. I'm trying to teach you about my mistakes, tell you what I did wrong so you won't make the same choices and end up where I did. So you won't end up dead—or worse. I feel like it's my responsibility, now that I've figured out all the tricks (most of them) and what mistakes I made (not that I know how to _fix_ them) I have to warn you. Not doing so would mean that if you, or someone else, died because of the exact same thing I did—it would be my fault. Your blood would be on me. So I _have_ to warn you, you see? If you know my story—there's a chance that it'll never happen again.

So here I go.

Hear my warning, my story, of what-the-heck happened to me, my brother, and brawl.

* * *

**********IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning One.  
**  
_Never play Subspace Emissary on Intense Mode._

**********IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

It was truly an epic battle. Simply by looking at it—you could tell that the heroes of the battle were growing desperate. Though their faces never changed, frozen (obviously by the sheer difficultly of it), as they fought against the impossible odds. Two heroes, however strong—against fifteen steel-plated machines of doom and despair—simply did not have the number advantage on their side. They were both heavily wounded, the smaller one more so than the other, and they were slowly losing ground against their enemies.

However, in a moment of unspoken inspiration—the smaller one launched itself from rapid physical attacks to a new sort of strategy. The rather mouse-like hero fled to the corner of the scree—er, battlefield, and flicked around with surprising quickness. Instantly, small little electric attacks began flooding towards the adversaries, accompanied with rapid, adorable sounding '_chu!'s _filling the otherwise silent arena (side the clashing of metal, faint battle music, and cracks of a whip). The new approach seemed to work! The attacks drove the enemy backwards—despite their surge with outstretched arms. They would flinch as the attack reached them, and fall backwards slightly. With this momentary hesitation, the other hero, a tall woman with a lashing plasma whip, saw her chance and began darting forward and taking them out one at a time with a powerful smash each.

The battle began to smile down upon the point of view of the heroes. They had lost so, _so_ many times before in this same hallway—so maybe, just maybe—their new strategy would finally give them something to celebrate about, a new victory! However, just as things seemed their brightest—the small mouse warrior changed gears with a startling quickness. It started to roll upon the ground, paws waving up in the air, chanting, '_Piiiiiikkaaaaa_…' in a high-pitched voice. As adorable, however, this display was, the R.O.B's found this sudden change in their favor as the cute chanting of the hero did not bring down lighting, or thunder—and the front row ROB began to charge a powerful smash against the undefending, taunting, adorable, Pikachu.

Instantly—as if she had already known this tide change in the battle was too good to be true, the woman from the other side of the screen darted forward. If she could just make it in time, if she could launch herself through the enemies and save the little hero from its impending doom—maybe, just maybe—they could make it through this level hallway. A flash of blue and the warrior had launched herself into the air, before suddenly swooping down with a boot outstretched. The leg connected with the charging R.O.B. with a sickening '_crunch' _and the R.O.B. went spiraling away and disappeared in a flash of blinding red light.

However grand the victory was at that moment, the recovering woman rose—unable to even leap away as the second R.O.B. behind his fallen comrade charged it's smash behind her and connected the punch (the other hero standing/rolling obliviously by) in a blinding speed and burst of white light.

"NO!" I screeched.

But yes. The smash connected, and like the twenty adversaries before her—Samus disappeared in a spiraling flash of red-light, Ironically, the remaining hero could be seen standing up on his tiny hind legs in a sudden switch of tactics—chirping cheerfully—and waving good-bye as the screen faded to black.

Shocked, I blankly stared at the now loading TV screen from my spot on the cushioned bed. The Wii controller and nunchuck vibrated in a completely late fashion, but I ignored it—continuing to gape. _God_. We had been _so_ close! What was this, the twenty third time we had died so close to the end of the level? (Or what I had thought was the end)—With a faint glare, I glanced over my shoulder at my little bro, who was staring at me with wide, green eyes from behind his wire-rimmed glasses.

"I thought I told you to spam, Bruce!" I gasped, shocked by how close we had been—shocked by how close victory had been and how it had slipped between my fingers by his lack of knowledge that taunting did not give damage. Maybe I wouldn't have been ticked off at him if it weren't for what came next. After all, he was only six years old. My sister, only twelve, had ditched me for her _iPod_ and _Pad _upstairs—and god knows my parents don't have time to play an entertaining _Wii_ game. So, not wanting to be alone to play, I was stuck with a six-year old for beating Sub-Space Emissary on Intense mode. Bruce, being my said brother, could hardly figure out how to make the little Pikachu on the screen to run and jump—much less beat intense mode R.O.B.'s. Plus, he was a little hard to be mad at with his brown curls and leather bomber jacket. But then—but then—

"I didn't die this time?" He asked, looking at me, eyes wide—completely ignoring my outburst. It would've been an innocent question, if it weren't for the fact that a little smirk that started to flicker off and on his face.

"No," I replied sharply—huffing a stray blond curl out of my eyes. I stared straight ahead; stiff, back to the TV screen, biting back a crushing, 'it's a first' remark. The TV animated two frozen statues, Zero-Suit and the little Pikachu, falling through the black backdrop and clattering onto an invisible floor. A booming voice (I winced and quickly reached for the TV remote) then asked if we wished to,

_"CONTINUE?"_

I ignored it, instead reaching over to a pale sheet of paper littered with pencil marks on the bed next to me. I lifted it, with a slight scowl, off the decorated floral bedsheets and onto my lap. Briefly, I took a moment to count up the scattered tallies, muttering faintly the numbers under my breath, while Bruce babbled to himself (Something about Fox and Falco or something like that) assuming I was listening.

Well. Whadda' know? It really _had_ been twenty-three times that Bruce and I had passed through these halls. And failed. I stared blankly at the screen—wondering if I should really just change the fricken' level of the game and move on with it. I mean, the game wasn't all the difficult—even at this level. When my friend, Esther, had introduced it to me a year or two ago—I had picked it up pretty fast. Dodging became easy enough, and I quickly learned tactics with my main, Sheik. I had dimly surfed around the multi-player modes—blissfully unaware of anything else until a few months back. Then, I had stumbled upon single-player mode—and most importantly, Subspace Emissary. I loved everything about it—the plot, the challenge, the characters—and with a cocky gleam in my eyes, I had selected Intense mode being proud of my abilities.

It was easy enough at the start—but it was challenging at other times. The difficulty factor rose by at least ten when I recruited Bruce to play with me (feeling lonely playing by myself). He was hooked as fast as I was, staring starry-eyed up at his hero character such as Pit and Fox, but he took a serious blow on my lives. Sometimes, he would randomly run off the screen to cost me a life. Most of the time, when all but one life (my own) was gone—I could do perfectly fine. But at other times, an extra life would have been very useful, and my progress through the game was slowed.

Now when I reached the level upon Zero-Suit-Samus's alliance with Pikachu—it was becoming the most difficult challenge for me yet. There was this _one_ hallway where a particular swarm of R.O.B's left Bruce and I breathless (and live…less). We simply _could not_ beat it. Sure, I could've changed the level, but my pride didn't allow it. Sure, I could've asked Bruce to sit back for a few minutes and let me take over, but we were in this together—and I was the most stubborn person to date.

_One more time_, I thought blearily, my brow furrowing. _One more round, and then I'll change the level to very-hard. It's practically the same as Intense, right?_

And my finger, unknowing of the fate I was sealing myself, pressed the middle A. button.

Bruce cheered, giggling, and I cracked a small smile as the two trophies stood magically up and flew up into the sky. Within seconds—my possessed Wii was rather fast—familiar strange electronica music started blaring—two figures popping up on the metal arena and animating slightly in attack stances. Sighing, but perking myself up with a shake of my dirty-blond curls, I rolled my shoulders and tilted the nunchuck slightly to the left—zero-suit instantly following my commands.

"Wrong way, Bruce," I said patiently, eyebrows rising slightly and my head tilting to the left in a half exasperated half amused expression. Instantly, the oversized Pikachu on the screen darted over to where Samus was slowly jogging, hovering only a few feet behind. Heh. You'd think that after twenty-four times of failure and restarting at the same exact spot—he'd of picked up the direction in which we went—

Wait a second.

I stopped, er, Samus stopped dead. Pikachu went running right on past her—to the point of where a beam of white light emerged and he was back at zero-suit's side in a flash of player-2 magic. Seeming to have gotten the point, Bruce looked up from the screen to stare curiously at me. I was really too shocked to process his question, as a brilliant epiphany had struck me, no—not struck—clobbered me in the face. What if—what if—I gaped—we were _supposed_ to loose in that battle with the ROB's? What if—I quickly titled the nunchuck to the left—we were _supposed_ to go to the left instead of to the right? After all, we had appeared in this hallway through a door (I think)—what was stopping me from going the other direction?

I quickly found my answer as I reached the end of the corridor. Samus stared blankly into a wall—the hallway taking a dramatic 90 degree turn directly upwards. Frowning, I launched her into her recovery—a wild flick of Samus's whip, combined with two, precise double jumps—and did not even begin to see the start of a ledge for her to catch onto. Oh. Well. I guess that explains why I can't go right. In rejection, I started to turn back in the direction we had come. It didn't take long, however, to remind myself what laid in that direction—an impossible battle that I would no doubt loose to again. Sighing, I titled the nunchuck, and again faced the wall with the seemingly impossible jump.

Bruce fooled around on the screen, Pikachu attempting a small and rather pathetic attempt at a wall jump. Rather amused, I grinned at him, catching his eye. "Here. Let me show you. Watch my hands," I instructed, making sure the kid was actually watching how I used the nunchuck before beginning. Zero-Suit leaped upward in a neat tuck summersault, before bouncing off the wall closest to her right. She made it a little ways up, but like I had experienced before—her wall jumps started to degrade, hardly pushing her up another foot or so as I went on. An intense level factor—the gamemakers were forcing you to use her up-B I suppose.

"How can you do that?" Bruce asked, with the beginning of a sulk mixed with the awe in his voice. I ignored him, actually thinking that maybe I could get up this wall now. The wall jump was rather pathetic now, and realizing I was about to slip downwards and end all my hard work—I launched Samus as high as I could, before unleashing her plasma whip for her recovery.

I've seen it. I've _seen_ the whip, and where the tip of it ends—I know that while it's one of the better recoveries—it does not go as high as it did that fateful day. The Samus on the screen froze, suspended in time. Loud whirling sounds filled the air, and the first prickle of uncertainty started to trickle through my head. All of a sudden, Samus shot upwards at impossible speeds—tethered to the plasma whip and flying upwards. The sound changed from a whirling to something that resembled the sound of when a fish attached to your line starts to pull away and unravels all of your line. _That_ sound. But instead of falling downwards—I was shooting upwards.

I dropped my Wii controller, staring in something that resembled horror at the screen. Pikachu was pulled upwards in a flash of white light, appearing momentarily beside Samus in mid-air, before he began to fall downwards and his damage flew upwards by the bucketful. Still, the woman flew upwards—a determined expression I had never seen before lining her face. Bruce's character appeared again, and that's pretty much when I figured out things were getting strange. No way could Samus's recovery be this long! I scrambled for my Wii controller, thinking about shutting the game off—or at least pausing it—and just as I reached it—Samus reached the top of the cliff.

I gaped, frozen, watching Samus hang precariously over the edge of the metal—finally, something kicked on inside of me, and I lunged forward to grab the controller and haul Samus up onto the solid ground. A tinkling sound had filled the air, and Pikachu appeared at her side (I just now realized he had still been falling), with damage at a hundred and _twenty-three f_rom the sheer length of the wanting to press my luck with this marvelous glitch, I shot Samus forward down the corridor at a sprint, Bruce taking the hint and racing after me.

Maybe a smart person, a person knowledgeable in the symptoms of a possessed Wii, would've stopped there. Turned off the game and returned to fight the impossible odds of the R.O.B's. But hey—I was me! No way was I going to let a little freaky glitch slow me down on the way to victory!

"How'd you do _that?_" Bruce asked with eyes wide and Pikachu momentarily pausing on the screen.

Releasing my hand from the nunchuck, I stopped—a wise look on my face. I dropped the controller into my lap—forming a one with my finger and draping my other free hand around his shoulder. "Honestly, Bruce?" I said, smile flickering across my lips. "I have no idea."

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

It was easy after that. Almost _too_ easy.

We strutted down the long, empty corridor without the slightest encounter of ROB's, or Primid. It was almost unsettling. There were no boxes, or items, or turns in the hallway in the slightest. I figured, you know, there would be some sort of boss-battle or golden door to end the level at the end. When there was a lull in the screen, it meant either a boss-battle or a golden door, simple enough—it was brawl logic.

Stupid brawl logic.

We reached the end of the hallway after thirty or forty unsettling empty seconds. Zero-suit and Pikachu emptied into a small square room after slipping down a small, no larger than Pikachu himself, ledge. Ooh, a change in scenery—how _exciting. _I huffed a blond curl out of my eyes, glancing irritably, with a slight edge of paranoia, around the room.

It was utterly empty.

No boxes, no doors, no enemies, no animation, no buttons, no keys—nada. Zip. Zero. All of our work had been for nothing. I must not have remembered how we ended up in that corridor with all those ROB's properly. We must've started here, then went down that corridor—killing the entire enemy in the process—(but didn't enemy respawn once you died?) and fell down the tube. It was a glitch I got back up here again; we really were supposed to battle all those ROBs.

Life sucked.

"C'mon, Bruce," I sighed, too disappointed to be angry. I tilted the nunchuck back the way we came. "There's nothing here."

Bruce, being the rebellious little boy he was, ignored me and ran straight into the wall on the other side of the room. Instinctively I followed him—he had been damaged enough in the climb up here—he didn't need any more damage points! Luckily, or unluckily, for me, as soon as I reached the other side of the room—a door appeared in the classic _'Psht'fwh!_' sound. Biting back unrestrained sobs of joy—I stared with a grin at the appearing door.

And then the grin dropped off my face.

The door was black. It was that simple. I, not knowing what the evil-smasher door was yet, would not have been able to tell you if it was one of those. In short, as I reflected on it later, it wasn't. It was black, sure, but it lacked the evil purple ooze (Only brawl can make purple look evil!). Instead, where the cracks of the wooden door were—were unrestrained beams of shining white light. I assumed it was another glitch of some sort. One glitch only leads to another, right? Still, I hesitated entering the door for some unnamed reason. Maybe it was my instincts, as _awesome_ as they are, screaming at me to turn around and not look back.

But despite the hairs standing up on the back of my neck—I moved Samus in front of the door—and flicked the nunchuck upwards.

And then the screen went black.

I stared numbly in shock at the screen, in disbelief. The lamp beside the bed had also flickered out, leaving us in nearly complete darkness. It was night outside, my parents were out so it was my job to be a babysitter to my younger siblings, (some babysitter I turned out to be)—which explained why the room was in complete darkness. _But. Freaking. Seriously?_ I raged inwardly. _The SECOND I find a way out of this level, we lose power? MY TIMING IS—_

That's when the Wii controllers started to shake.

They vibrated violently, I dropping my own controller almost instantly at the sheer shock. It hung from my wrist, the adjustable thread that I don't remember putting on keeping it close. The normal neon blue lights flashed angrily, alternating in seemingly random patterns and no doubt illuminating my absolutely terrified face. I struggled with the latch on the controller, wanting this thing freaking OFF of me, _now_—but either because my hands were as weak as water, or the thing had grown an invisible lock—the latch did not budge. Now certain I was paralyzed by fear, I glanced sharply over at my little bro who stared back at me with watery eyes.

"_Brittney_?"

_BOOOOOOOOOM! _

I gasped, lurching forward, hands clutching desperately onto the floral bedsheets of my parents bed—hand pushing out and bracing myself on the wooden posts of the bed, head lurching downwards for a moment before looking bravely up into a new source of light and…

…power. I gaped, my hair whipping around my face and towards this new suction of a seemingly vortex that had appeared in place of the television screen. There was no other way to describe it. It was a whirlpool of swirling colors, slowly expanding outside its 2D realm of the plastic screen, forming into a flat dome that expanded outwards and coaxed me forward with suction unlike anything I had ever felt. I mean, my _hair _was in pain—nearly being dragged out of its roots by the sheer force of what I called vortex.

Gritting my teeth, I lunged outwards and grabbed a firm arm around my brother's shoulder—wrapping it around his torso in what _could_ have been called a sleepers-hold but I was too panicked to care. He was now openly bawling, something I had to struggle not to give into myself. I honestly thought we were going to die; that my Wii was coming back to life to slay me for all those times I had neglected it. Or, that was the most logical explanation I could come up with in my fear-ridden brain at the moment, but I had more important things to worry about than motive. I launched myself off the bed with my little bro, struggling with my bare-feet on the white slick carpet to dart in the direction of the door. I figured, if I could get far enough away from the vortex I might be able to save us.

Items were whipping around us in the air, I narrowly avoided the same door in which I was trying to get out, as it flew off its hinges and went flying into the ever expanding vortex. Watching my life flash before my eyes, I hulled Bruce across my shoulders and fought against the impossible drag into the now open door. Sheets from the bed tangled with my feet, I having to bunny hopping awkwardly in order to move forward.

Unfortunately, bunny hopping while trying to prevent yourself from being sucked into a gigantic vortex of inexplicable doom does deter well with my already poor balance skills. My lungs found themselves suddenly empty as I slammed into the carpet, one ear ringing as it said hello to the floor. I blearily tried to sit up, heard something whistle by my ear, felt the undeniable pull of the vortex—and managed a miniscule widening of my eyes before something small slammed into the back of my head and the world went black.


	2. The Rabbit Hole

The world was blurry when I opened my eyes. They were only half-open too, so I really didn't have a good idea to where I was. I vaguely, with eyes again fluttering closed, realized I was lying sideways on the earth. Earth—because the smell of dirt and plants hit the roof of my mouth as I let out a huffing cough. I laid there for another minute or so, stirring faintly with a mind-numbing grogginess, aware of a faint throbbing in the back of my head, shifting from my position in the dust. Finally, my blue eyes opened, clearer than they had been before—and I groggily pushed myself off the dirt and brushed the dirt residue off my cheek.

I peered around, wondering how-the-heck I had gotten outside since going to bed last night. _Wait. Wait a second. I never went to bed last night—I—the vortex—_

"Bruce!" I sat up suddenly, flipping over from on my stomach so I was properly sitting up, adrenaline flooding through my aching limbs. Instantly, a jolt of pain shot across my head, traveling down my spine and I buried my face in my knees—biting back a cry of pain. I tenderly reached up, hand trembling slightly, and touched the back of my head—the dirty blond curls back there stiff with dried blood. Right. Stupid flying furniture. I rubbed it with a gentle back of my hand, before remembering my task with a jolt.

I staggered to my feet, eyes going blurry again with the clouding of black spots from the head-rush. I stood there for a moment longer, eyes closed—shoulders heaving—before finally lifting my head and snapping open my eyes. No space time anomaly was going to separate us!

So I tried all the basics.

"Okay, real funny guys! Haha—you got me, you can come out now!"

"Oh! I feel faint! I must be dying!" PLOP.

"OKAY, SERIOUSLY. MR. VORTEX—CAN YOU PLEASE GIVE ME AT LEAST A _LITTLE_ DIRECTION HERE?"

"I'm going to hold my breath until someone out here comes and tells me what's going on!"

*GASP* "Okay! Now you're really hurting my feelings. I think I'm just going to end it all…"

As you could probably tell, none of those approaches worked. Finally, with a dejected sigh—a quiet acceptance dawned on me. I gave a small, half-shrug, and rolled my shoulders after finding them stiff from lying there on the forest floor for god-knows how long. They rolled efficiently, without the hindrance of normal clothing—wait. Wait a second. I peered down at myself, eyes widening. I had been too busy with the whole 'time-space anomaly' thing in the past few minutes to really notice the details that may or may not be important. Instead of my jeans and t-shirt was a… oh, god… leather jumpsuit. I bet by now you've guessed what color, eh? In case you need a little help, I'll give you a hint.

Blue.

Bright. Freaking. Blue.

Zero suit.

I was now Samus Aran.

* * *

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Two.  
**  
_Don't willingly go down the freaking rabbit hole._

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

Well, maybe not Samus Aran herself. For one thing, I lacked Samus's rather large… erm, _frontal_ area, and remained at my painfully average five foot four (I had read somewhere that Samus was 6 foot something—and seven foot something with her amour). My hair wasn't a beautiful platinum blond, nor was it in an elegant pony tail—but remained as its curly dirty blond (I had to awkwardly pull my shorter hair in front of my face to check this) self. Of course, this led to the conclusion that I was not some part bird alien thing and could probably not do a roundhouse kick like a boss.

Disappointing.

Luckily, all this still pointed to the fact that this was an elaborate sort of prank—but my mind still didn't process this. I was still glued to the fact that I must have been—I mean—I couldn't form a coherent thought—I mean, naturally, this came as a little shock to me. I mutely stumbled around these thick forestry for several minutes—trying to wrap my brain around what had just happened. All I, we, had been doing was playing Subspace. Nothing special! Just Subspace Emissary on intense mode. We had run into a few in-game glitches—but who hasn't in their entire gaming career? This was something special—that vortex, it must've sucked us into the game somehow!

Or it could be just me. I frowned, but felt a little better at this thought. I didn't remember what exactly happened after I hit my head/was clobbered by something—but maybe Bruce had escaped somehow! Unless this was a prank… I mean—it had to be!

Right?

_Right?_

I mean, I had always thought about how epic it would be to be sucked in a video game or book before—but now that I was actually there—let's face it. I can't roundhouse kick. I can't save the world. The closest thing I can do that might actually be lethal is shoot a gun (mind you, this all occurs in video games, but my frazzled brain naturally assumes I would be great at shooting a real gun). Do slingshots count too? I can do slingshots. Sorta. I'm not terrible, but can you kill someone with a slingshot—?

Panic also makes me ramble.

Long story short—if I really was in a video game, especially a violent one like this—I was screwed.

Completely and utterly _screwed_.

I plopped down on the hard ground of the forest floor, exactly back where I started, eyes staring unseeingly into the brush. My mind had just been… blown. Surely any pranksters would have emerged from the foliage by now, hadn't this gone a little too far? Was this all real? Was I really… really in a video game? I didn't _feel_ any different. I let loose a long sigh, crossing my legs Indian style and leaning my head back—arms arched behind me and holding me up. I let my eyes close for a second, suddenly feeling very, very tired. My mind was whirling. What was I supposed to do? I had never thought—

My hand brushed against something cold. Jumping slightly, I glanced down sharply, eyebrows lifting expectantly. I shifted my arm a little to the right, and a flash of light made me blink. Eyes focusing, I peered down at the small little stone whose cold reflective surface had caught my eye. Leaning on my right arm heavily, I used my other hand to scoop the gem out of the dust and hold it up to the light with a skeptical eye.

What was it? I wasn't like any rock I had ever seen. It seemed almost glass—sun filtering thought merrily—but the texture, the chilling coolness of the surface… it was even cut strangely. Like a sphere but with hard, lined, edges. Flat and thin, but—spherical. Like… a thin flat hexagonal-sphere. If that even was a word. However, the serenity of the stone made my life snap into perspective, if not for a moment. I lowered my arm, chewing on my bottom lip and blinking slowly.

If I was really in Subspace Emissary, and if I really was Samus Aran—or at least wearing her clothes—that meant I was in the game_. But where?_ I mused. I could be anywhere. I had never actually finished the game, so I could just as likely be somewhere in the game's future as well as the past. I quite obviously wasn't in the 'present' (the place I was in the game before The Incident), so that left any matter of time before Samus infiltrated the building (for what? I never knew) or after she had escaped. But in that matter, where was Pikachu? Unless he had been recaptured, like Donkey Kong had—and Samus indisposed of.

Gah. This was frustrating. Why hadn't I looked up plot spoilers before this like the average teenager?

Anyways, with a shake of my head, I stood—pocketing the no-doubtedly-important-key-plot-piece-that-will-come-back-at-an-unexpected-time-in-the-story stone in the high leather collar around my neck—the only place I could think to put it without the risk of losing it.

If I _was_ in a video game—I had two goals.

One. Get out.

Two. Find my bro. If he was even here.

And how to do that?

I set my jaw, took one step forward.

Beat the game.

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I gotta hand it to Samus. She has an excellent taste in zero-suits. While skin-tight, the suit was comfortable as I made my way through the foliage of the thick forest. Thorns scraped uselessly at the material and I didn't feel a thing. I was nice and warm, it was slightly cooler out, and the cloth didn't squeak or pinch or anything. _Hey_. Be nice. You would care about it too if you had no idea where the heck your own clothes were and were likely expected to run for your life, hopefully not fight, sleep, eat, likely get beat to pulp, etc. in it. The boots were comfortable, and although the tips were strangely heavy, I felt like I could run forever if I wanted to in them. Which was strange, cause I normally hate running and everything it stands for (being a swimmers and all).

But I didn't run. I walked. Walked FOREVER in this endless, endless forest. I passed a stream or two, several rocks, a billion trees, a billion more blades of grass—once I got past the whole holy-crap-I'm-going-to-die thing, it was actually quite boring. The silence was unnerving. I was so used to human voices being EVERYWHERE. Even in the woods at my school, or Local Park— there was always someone I could hear at all times. Eventually I got used to the sound of the birds chirping and the sound of the stream and it was actually quite… nice.

Of course, as soon as I relaxed—a deafening _CRACK!_ sounded off in the distance.

I froze.

Then I ran towards the sound.

I had watched all the television shows, movies, and GOD—I can't remember how many times I had screamed at the television screen at the stupidity of the characters on the (insert-the-blank-here) TV Show or Movie that heard a noise and decided to run toward or even INVESTIGATE the noise or screaming. Yet I still found myself nearly falling flat on my face as I sprinted towards the sound.

Catching myself by some miracle of gravity, I slid to a halt by the edge of the clearing, reaching out and leaning heavily against a tall narrow tree upon the ridge—by some sort of video game logic surprisingly unshort of breath. The sound was incredibly loud at this point—some sort of machinery clanking and construction. I was mostly hidden from the very bare part of the further area by a thin wall of bush and thorn—and with eyes narrowed into cat-like slits, I leaned forward into the bush and peered ahead.

What I saw completely destroyed any lasting suspicion that this was some sort of prank.

R.O.B.s.

Fifty. Freaking. Billion of them.

My eyes widened and I stumbled backwards mutely, falling flat on my back in my sheer panic to get away from that particular area of this now official videogame area. After breathing heavily for a moment, mind a whirl, I slowly got to my feet and crawled back over to the veil of bush and thorns—heart thumping loudly in my ears.

They were… so real. They were swarming around rocky sloped hill edge—disappearing in an out of a sort of metal indented cave?—it was hard to describe. Some sort of large ship, like nothing I had ever seen before, had docked on what looked like a small concrete runway that led away from the opening. R.O.B.s swarmed around the plane, hauling large crates, working machinery—it was all very confusing.

Anyways, after picking up a crate or five, they would whirl back through this entrance into the hill. Like a rabbit hole, from Alice and Wonderland.

But… bigger.

And rectangular.

And metal.

Huh.

So, not like a rabbit hole then.

I guess my analogy was partially right, though. Who knew what would lie inside? Insanity, quite obviously—and danger. I scurried, bent over, running along the very edge of the forest—eyes trained on the scene through the trees. I quite honestly don't even know what I was doing, some sort of half formed plan on going around the whole thing—no rabbit hole for me—but _not_ at the same time?—when I tripped.

Loudly.

I started to swear, but bit my tongue as I don't swear when I'm around my siblings (or anyone, really) and then I stopped biting my tongue when I realized I was the only one there, but by the time I was spitting out my profanity I had already lost the word that had been thinking of less than a second ago and was fixated on the shiny thing I had tripped over.

It was Samus's gun thingie. Blaster. Plasma whip. Whatever. How poorly plot placed device number two convenient! I held it up to the light, grin spreading across my face. It looked just as deadly as before, and a lot less complicated than I had ever hoped for. I was just about to peer down the barrel like an idiot (as the gun did not have a safety) when a crack caught my attention. My IMMINENT attention.

A R.O.B. had heard my graceful face plant. It looked like it—he—she—what—ever—had been rolling along close to the forest edge, on the further side of the hill where I had dashed adjacent to in the forest. I had noticed it before, but it had seemed so focused, and I was actually pretty stealthy when I wanted to be, that I hadn't been too worried. But now, staring deer-in-headlights at it rolling its way curiously over to the forest edge…

…you could say I was slightly more worried.

The R.O.B. stopped at the edge forest, both arms extended, camera eyes adjusting and focusing as if peering into the foliage. It was right in front of my face plant spot, the only thing between both places was a thin veil of thorns. Whether curious, cruel, or just thinking logically, the ROB blasted the veil away with a quick jab of he/she/it's laser, revealing—

—nothing.

WHAM.

The R.O.B's head disconnected from its body with a buzz of electricity. Standing behind it, I probably would've crowed 'PISTOL WHIPPED!' had I been a little less scared out of my mind. I had had the momentary sense not to shoot the R.O.B. with the blaster I had just acquired and had no knowledge of how to work whatsoever, due to the fact that I had no idea how loud of a sound the firing of the plasma would make. I didn't want to draw attention to myself, after all.

So, seconds after my first victory—my first grand victory—I proudly strut my way away from the area.

Sarcasm, you have been noted.

What I actually did was gape in horror as the remaining body of the R.O.B. crackled and buzzed while remaining upright (my arm with the blaster still statue-like frozen up in the air) before making what sounded like a squeak and bolted towards the relatively empty part of the hill behind me—my cheap-shot first timer luck victory remaining far behind.

Just in time too.

By the time I had reached the hill, a pair of R.O.B.s strolled by, lugging crates each—passing by their beheaded comrade without a second glance. I have no doubt that if I had still been there, they might've actually done something—but I guess in this place, which I later learned to be an effing BOMB factory, causalities are common. There were trees and rocks upon the hill, and I used them for leverage and cover, running up another few hundred feet—low to the ground—before summing up the courage to stop and lean heavily up against the back of a pine.

My guess was that there were R.O.B.s equally spread out around the hill. It was like I was on some mini island and the sharks were circling around the bay—ready to chomp on my legs the second I tried to get free.

_Brilliant idea, Brittney!_ I raged, inwardly, sliding to the ground. _Run _towards_ the rabbit hole, not back to the trees! You are just sooooo freaking smart it's unbelievable. _I sat there for a minute or two, really at a stunned, angry, loss at what to do when an idea occurred to me.

An incredibly insane, suicidal, likely to get me smashed to pulp idea.

But it was the only one I got.

Primid.

They had to breathe, right? I had seen a few of them among the masses of R.O.B.s—and it looked like they were going inside the rabbit hole too. R.O.B.s were machines, so they didn't need air in this presumably underground area, but Primid did. Maybe. Weren't they made of some purple floaty dots? I assumed for a moment, just for the sake of hope, that they did have to breathe. Okay. If they had to breathe, they needed ventilation shafts. And if there were vents, then I could get inside. If I could get inside, I could hide out until I could find a way to smuggle myself out of the rabbit hole.

This was either the best idea or the worst idea I had gotten in a LONG time.

I scurried around the hill for a while, hidden from the R.O.B. by the thick forestry and bush, for several minutes. Mindless searching ensued, until eventually I saw a flash of light in the bushes a few feet in front of me. I jumped over a log and brushed aside a curtain of bushes to find a large square box sticking out of the ground.

A _metal_ box.

I was strangely happy, circling around the vent for a moment, eyeing the thick metal grate. I curled by hands around the thick metal bars and tugged—rather futilely. The grate didn't budge. I tried stomping ontop of it too—not my best idea, what would've happened if I had succeeded?—but that didn't work either. I pulled up, down, tried to slide it sideways, but to no avail.

I stared at the box. A box I couldn't open. Now I was annoyed, and felt rather like Pandora—but instead of just having the temptation of wondering what laid inside, I couldn't get inside either. Unless—

I was a Bond girl. I loved the James Bond games. My favorite game was Nightfire—I loved all of the special gadgets and cool animations and even the cheesy one-liners. Just wait—this will soon be relevant to your life. In one level of Nightfire, when I was playing it for the first time, I was stuck with trying to open this… safe. Inside the safe were some special codes or something that I needed to collect and then rendezvous with someone to make some epic escape. I couldn't figure out how to open it, and spent the next ½ an hour grumbling and retracking my steps to figure out what I did wrong.

Until I noticed the latches on the safe glowing. I put two and two together, pulled out my 'watch' and used the built in laser (where can I get one of those?) to melt the latches and have the safe's 100 lbs door fall on my head and yet leave me seemingly unharmed. I then proceeded to have some 'epic' escape ending with a cheesy animation of Bond landing ontop of his girl and making a romantic joke that I wasn't old enough to get yet.

Well.

I didn't have a laser.

But I did have something that apparently shot plasma. Is plasma hot? It sounds like something that would be hot. I didn't know, but went around to the other side of the box and took careful aim anyways. Like most of my plans, I knew there was the large chance that this would backfire horribly on me and leave me likely with a broken, bruised, cracked, fractured, seriously damaged (insert random bone in the body here).

I squeezed my eyes half shut, pulled my face slightly away, and pulled the trigger.

_Sfweet!—BOOM! _The strange sound of the gun firing and the loud echoing crack of the metal grate swinging down and smacking into the long metal vent.

I slowly opened my eyes, not even realizing I had shut them, after a careful assessment of my well-being. I was perfectly fine, to my everlasting surprise, and I lowered the gun. I slowly pressed myself against the stomach-tall metal box and peered downwards, leaning over the side. I couldn't see the bottom—it was blackened by shadows.

Great. Did I really want to go down there?

NO.

Did I pretty much have a choice?

Well, _yeah_. There's always a choice.

Am I still going to go down anyways?

Probably.

Cautiously, I pushed myself up on the side and hung my feet over the edge, sitting uncomfortably on the thin metal sides. Leaning forward, I put one arm on either side of the metal walls, locking my elbows and slowly hanging myself over the black—gripping the plasma gun in my teeth. (Where else would I put it?)

I slowly unlocked my arms, shaking with the effort it took, (and I was pretty in shape too, doing swim-team and all) until I was hanging as far as I could down without letting go. I swung my legs. They hit the sides of the metal walls, making a dull thumping sound, but I couldn't feel the bottom. Not good. The bottom could be less than a foot, or hundreds of feet away. It was likely somewhere in between, but I couldn't ever tell—and I couldn't take the risk.

Well, that was a waste of my time.

I began to pull myself up.

Or… tried to.

My feet slid uselessly against the slick metal sides, my arms trembling from the effort. I had absolutely zero grip and the metal sides that my hands were latched on were so thin that the metal was actually starting to slice into my skin. I rolled my palms, trying to get pressure off of them, trying to get a grip that didn't hurt so I could pull without cutting through my palm. Oh, oh, god.

Painstakingly, I started to pull myself up. The pain on my hands was so intense. So, so intense. This was poor planning at its worst. I had no doubt I could pull myself up, but god—at the price of some seriously messed up hands? This was going to take a while.

Except…

…I didn't have a while.

A whirling sound.

I couldn't quite place what it was, but it definitely made me freeze. I sunk back downwards and braced my legs against the side—taking some of the weight off my hands. The sound had made me nervous, what was it? It was steadily getting louder—I could barely hear the sound of my own breathing that had previously echoed in the tall shaft. I peered upwards, squinting up against the bright white sound as the sound's volume increased. Then came a muffled thump against the outside of the metal of the shaft.

My breath caught in my throat.

I couldn't get out. I wasn't quick enough to get out—I didn't have the time—my hands—and the cats, the pair of R.O.B.s who I thought hadn't seen me, peered curiously down the rabbit hole to found a completely helpless, completely trapped, mouse. The R.O.B. stared at me. Its eyes focused on my face, my frozen, pale, completely shocked face. We stared at each other. The R.O.B. at me, me at that little light ontop of its head, the one signaling that a R.O.B has enough power to fire a laser.

Then my hands uncurled themselves from the oh-so-thin metal sides.

And.

I.

Fell.

Down the Rabbit Hole.

* * *

**So there's the second chapter. I'm sorry posting took so long! I'm normally quite a quick writing, just something about this chapter was difficult for me, it probably had something to do with how this wasn't the most action packed chapter ever and was FILLED with cliches. (though I do love a classic cliche... hehe)**

**To **_The Element Commander!:_ Thank you so much for your review! I shall never forget it-you have no idea how loud I screamed when I saw someone was actually reading this story and cared enough to give me a review, and much less the super long one you gave me! On your comments, hehe-well, it does help writing a little kid when one is poking you and bothering you and hugging you while you're trying to write the chapter. I do plan on continuing this story, I really will try. Hehe.

**To **_TheMostRandomOfRandomWriters_**_: _**Well, I tried. ^^lll Hopefully I'll be faster next time! Thanks so much for your review!

**And to **_thebeastifiedone_, _ThePersonofAwesomness, _**and**_ Smart-Person-18_**-Thank you for your alert supscriptions/favoriting. :) I do hope you'll say hello one day.**

**Until next chapter!  
**-Fleet


	3. Chuck Your Lemons At Life

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...!"

You can probably tell this went on for a while. Unfortunately, my guess on how far the shaft actually fell was teeeeeeeeeeeerribly inaccurate. Instead of less than a foot away, or several hundred feet away—it was several THOUSAND feet away. My. Freaking. Luck.

I fell. At first I had been completely silent, side a strangled little squeak in the back of my throat—but as I continued to fall, legs and arms flailing against the small enclosed shaft, and as I continued to gain speed until I was practically breaking the sound barrier and my stomach was clenching so horribly I thought I was going to pass out, I did what every sensible person would do.

I screamed like bloody murder.

Now a lot of you are probably asking, if you were falling for so long, why didn't you use Samus's plasma whip or something to save yourself?—or brace yourself against the side walls or something?

Oh, you mean the plasma whip I was holding in my teeth? Oh, yes. That is an excellent plan. Flawless, side the fact that my brain could barely form a coherent thought side 'I'M GOING TO FREAKING DIE!' and 'AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!' and the fact that I was screaming _with_ my mouth open… so… I think I just may have lost whatever plasma whip I may have or may not have had in the past.

Plus, you'd be surprised how fast a person plummets to their death and how fast a thousand feet can go by. Like in eight or so seconds, not that I was really paying attention—but that's my rough estimate from later on. The entire fall to my death probably took about 20ish seconds in all, and trust me—those were the longest and shortest 20ish seconds of my life.

All of a sudden, I wasn't falling in black anymore, nor were my arms or legs painfully smashing into the sides of the shaft every once in a while as I spun, flipped, sped downwards. I couldn't quite tell what I was falling down anymore—and I quite honestly didn't care. All I knew was that this new shaft was that it was maybe a 100 or 200 feet wide (thank god, I think I may have broken something on the way down) and that there was a floor. A very, very close floor, maybe 700 feet away?

Again. Didn't care. Wanted to live. Going to die.

_OHMYGODI'MGOINGTODIE——AHHHHHHHI'MGOINGTODIEON—_

^Most intelligent thought of my life.

Remember way back in Warning Two at the beginning—when I was talking about how nice this zero-suit was? Remember me mentioning how strangely heavy the tips of the boots were?

There was a loud 'FWOOSH!' sound I barely heard over the sound of my own screams and the air whooshing by my ear. All of a sudden, I was no longer falling downwards, but streamlining head-first into the large chute's gray, circular steel walls and I was about to bash my head in. Acting more on instinct than a true 'WTF?' I jerked my head upwards, eyes wide.

My feet swung downwards and I was shooting upwards and into the top of the shaft. I flailed, now more at the WTF stage than the 'AHH I'M GOING TO DIE!' one. My arms backpedaled, and I was pretty much doing some sweet-barrel rolls and aerials trying to figure out what the heck was going on. Except, every time my feet rolled in a different direction, I did too—just a swirling mass of flailing limbs and a bright sort of fire streaming from the boots I had once thought to be comfortable and heavy—nothing more.

Eventually stopped spinning enough for my feet to lock and again send be plummeting straight downwards—nose-diving into the ground. _CRAP! _My legs somehow got under me again and I was once more a spinning, uncontrolled, having no idea what the heck was going on side the fact that I was leaving scorch marks on the side walls as I tried not to die.

_AHHHHHTURNITOFF! NOFLYNOFLYNOFLYOFF!_

Instantly, there was dead quiet. No screams. No air whistling up my ears. No FWOOSHing sound. My speed slowed down dramatically. I had been soaring upwards again, and now was faced with my arms flailing, trying to grab onto something, as I soared up like a bird before taking an arching plummet back towards the ground.

"I TAAAAAAAAAAAAKE IT BAAAAAACK ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHH—FLYONFLYONFLYONFLYON!" I screamed.

FWOOSH. Now I was pelting even faster into the ground. I had the momentary sense to try and swing my legs around in front of me, which I somewhat managed to do—less than ten-feet from the ground now.

And back was I with the dilemma of shooting back upwards towards imminent face-destruction.

"LESS—FLY!" I seemed to be screaming a lot today—I didn't even know I could make such a loud and high-pitched sound. Surprisingly, the scream worked. The ceiling was pelting towards my face significantly less quick than it had been before—but still rather life-threatening.

"LESSFLYLESSFLYLESSFLY!"

I began to fall.

"AGH! MORE FLY. MORE. FLY!"

I began to rise at a crawling pace.

My heart was thumping wildly in my ears, the fwooshing sound of the flame just loud enough to block out the sound of my no doubtedly panicked gasps. I hadn't exactly been able to get a good breath of air when it was all rushing past me as I plummeted to my supposed doom. "A very little…" I said, teeth probably chattering together as well, "…less… fly."

I hovered. In midair. _500_ feet in midair. Holy ******************. I was fine with heights, normally. Mostly because I knew, when rock-climbing, or peering out of a window at the Empire State Building—I was safe. I wasn't going to die unless the world decided it absolutely hated me. But this—I had every likelihood of becoming a mush of intestine and blood on the ground. I was wobbly. I was probably shaking too. My knees tried very hard to remain locked. It was a challenge.

My legs slowly started spreading apart, causing me to begin spinning in the slightest. Gah! I tried bringing them back together, but it only made me wobble and bounce up and down in mid-air. I started spinning faster. Oh, great. This was just wonderful.

Eventually I got the courage to snap my heels together and slowly stop the spinning. Now I just hovered, eyes tightly screwed shut, hands balled into fists—completely and utterly scared out of my mind. Needed. Ground. _Now_.

"Less. Fly." I managed to squeak out, arms slowly releasing themselves from the glued position at my sides and holding them out in a tightropes T for balance. It made me a little less wobbly, which was very nice. Slowly, ever so slowly, I began to sink downwards towards the ground—the fire in my boots preventing total plummetation to the ground.

When my legs hit the ground, the fire immediately extinguished. Good thing, too, cause my legs practically fell out from under me—my knees slamming into the metal floor and letting the rest of my body gradually collapse onto the ground. I rolled over onto my back, face pale, hands in a cold sweat—and promptly burst into hysterical laughter.

I couldn't stop. Now that I wasn't dead, or in immediate danger of dying, I found the fact that I almost HAD completely and utterly hilarious. Shock probably had something to do with my giddiness as well, but—you never can tell these days. My laughter rang through the high echoed ceilings, and eventually gave way to calmer waves of giggles. Oh, gosh. Oh, GOD. I was so, so, so happy to have something solid against my back right then—it was one of the most relief filled moments at that point in my life.

I sighed and sagged back into the floor, a huge stupid grin on my face.

By chance, my head rolled to the side, more out of relived exhaustion than anything—and spotted, not five feet away, Samus's blaster. Completely intact, despite having fallen over several thousand feet.

I promptly burst into laughter.

* * *

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Three.  
**  
_When life gives you lemons—chuck the lemons in life's face and run in the opposite direction like nobody's business._

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

_What to do now? _I finally got a hold of myself a few minutes later, after several seemingly quieting bouts of nervous giggles, and stared up at the endless ceiling. It made me dizzy just looking at how freaking tall it was. I could just barely make out the black square where I had plummeted though, maybe 700, 800 feet away? God. This was the day I nearly died.

Twice.

_Let's not add to the number, shall we?_ I asked myself, slowly hoisting myself to my feet and peering around, slightly more critical now. I mused as I trotted over to retrieve the blaster.

I could fly back up. Or… attempt to fly back up. Now that I had a way to get off my mini secluded island, I could totally abort this plan of trying to smuggle myself off. But then again, that shaft I had originally fallen down was narrow. And dark. I'd have to spend a few hours here in this tunnel, practicing my nonexistent skills, before I'd have any chance of making it up that thing.

I could try to find my way out through the original big rabbit hole, the one with all the construction going on. I could just fly over their heads and be home free! But again, I didn't have to skill for that. And those R.O.B.s had lasers. I could get fried easily.

Stealth seemed to be my only option of survival. I didn't mind. Sneaking around was kinda my thing. Even in video games, back in the real world, I always like to choose the stealthy route rather than throw myself into a gun, or brawl, fight. Wait for the others to take each other out, or—in Bond—find a nice silencer for my P99 and a quiet ventilation shaft to sneak around in—

Vents.

My head snapped upwards and my eyes racked along the walls of the circular shaft. I hadn't had good luck with the vents so far, but hadn't Samus been seen—the very first time we saw her—kicking a vent to get into the rooms? And this vent was low rising, so if I could find a low rise vent… if it could hold a six foot something warrior _BEAST_, it could hold me. I could totally avoid the R.O.B's—find a way to the outside and—

There.

I squinted, frowning. There _seemed_ to be a vent, a hundred or so feet up on my left. It was possible that I could, very slowly, float my way up there. Anything higher than that vent and I would get too nervous. But maybe this spot… maybe I could do it.

Slowly, I spread my legs and locked them, arms clenched in fists down at my side. I forced myself to look upwards, lock chin, don't look down, crap, crap, don't look down, crapcrapcrap…

"FLY. ON—" I ordered, inhaling deeply and surprised by how steady my voice sounded. There was a sudden pressure at my boots, and I had a flash of thoughts as I slowly began to rise off the ground. One, I would probably have to jump if I didn't want to potentially blow up the boots/thrusters or burn the carpet and get a good speed—the metal floor had scorch marks now and it had effectively resisted my command until enough force got behind it. Two, I was rising very quick—as if I really needed speed—I should probably fix that before I panicked.

"—slowly," I added, and the momentum I had gathering at remarkable speeds slowed dramatically. I was practically crawling upwards now, but until I got—coming soon—really excited about this new ability to fly and learned how to fly without potentially dying, I was okay with this slow crawling speed.

Wobbly, nervously fighting the urge to look around and likewise begin spinning from the force, but okay.

I almost passed the vent when I reached it. Despite nearly a full forty seconds with this crawling pace, I was still quite uncomfortable—go figure—and had to find my voice and flail awkwardly inside my head for the proper command before I managed to choke out a cautious 'less fly.' It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't even know how speaking aloud like this was actually controlling the amount of fire streamlining from these boots—surely they weren't picking up the voice commands or something crazy like that. Wasn't something like that nearly impossible?—and how could it have picked up the sound of my voice over the dull low roar of the fire?

Did I really even care?

Eventually, after sounding very strange arguing with myself over 'less fly—more fly, wait, no, less, more?—how about hovering levels? Can you do that? No? Okay? Little less? More? GAH.' I found myself hovering a few feet away from the large vent. It looked big enough for me to fit, now that I was up and close, maybe two and a half feet by two and a half feet big and covered by a light mesh sort of thing. After popping the blaster back into its spot of my sharp teeth, I found myself rather surprised by how easily I tore back the mesh and let the almost window-screen like covering fall a hundred feet to the ground.

Huh. And I was thinking I had to use the gun. _(totally not disappointed)_

It was a very awkward, and rather heart pounding in ears, moment—but eventually I propelled myself forward enough for me to latch onto the sides and mutter a brisk 'fly off' as I scurried inside the vent. The metal made an echoing creaking sound, but seemed to be able to hold my weight. Ha. Win.

And so, with an uncertain—but rather proud—glance back over my shoulder at the white steel of the shaft behind me, I began to crawl forward into the dramatic unknown.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Hollywood and Vines, anyone?

Yeah. I doubt you get that reference. You'd have to have a strange (or in my opinion 'epic') taste in music to get that. Let me just leave the reference at LOST, exploring and traveling theme, and let Google do the rest for those curious enough. Let me just say, though, if I had any background music playing at that moment in time—Hollywood and Vines would be rocking my world. I actually found myself humming it lightly to myself as I crawled on my hands and knees through the seemingly never ending maze of vents.

Keyword(s): NEVER. FREAKING. ENDING.

The zero suit did an excellent job of preventing my hands and wrist bones and knees and etc. from getting rubbed to raw red, but my back was starting to ache from being hunched over for so long and I had banged my face into the thin metal walls more than once. It was kinda annoying, once I got past the cool stealthyness of the ventilation shafts. So I crawled.

And crawled.

Came to a split path, and crawled some more.

_'Dear Facebook Status Update Readers: STILL CRAWLING.'_

I laughed, amused by myself. Probably way too tired as well. My short laugh rang through the near dark metal corridors, and I quickly stopped, but still allowing myself a small smile. Oh, how I can amuse myself in dead silences. Probably should stop the whole laughing thing though, I didn't want to freak out a R.O.B. or something into frying my vent alive.

The vents progressively moved downwards at a slope. This was nice, because after a while—when it got steep enough—I could sit down and slide down the vents by using my legs in front of me to scoot myself along. It wasn't bad after I figured that out, I could hold Samus's blaster in my hands then, not in my mouth. I really needed to find a holster for this thing—how the heck could Samus do her special cat-like crawl with her blaster anyways?

If I ever got home/didn't die, I was going to have to do some research on that.

Several minutes later—maybe fifteen or so in all?—I came across my first vent. I'm sure there were more, otherwise I would've been in complete darkness a LONG time ago despite the red glow from the eerie pattern on Samus's zero-suit, but this was the first one I had seen directly on the vent floor in front of me.

_Lovely._ Now I was forced to act on my plan of stealth instead of just throwing out brave thoughts in my mind. I got down on my stomach as quite as possible, pressing my chin to the cool of the metal and peering downwards through the slats. A few blond curls slipped down around my face—I really needed to find a ponytail holder or something—and I huffed them away irritatingly, trying to see clearly down through the gaps.

Aha!—Empty room.

It looked like a room for storage or something, lots of crates and stuff piled up around. Shelves, lots of hiding space, food?—I licked my lips. I was hungry. And thirsty. Very thirsty. Traveling through dimensions will do that to ya'. The floor and walls were made of metal, surprise-surprise, looking eerily similar to the walls of the corridors of the video game, and a door (with no handle—wha?) could be seen on the other side of the room, framed by crates. Huh. Maybe it opened automatically when you got close? Or maybe you needed a key-card.

Either way: I was starving. I could deal with hunger for a while, but who knew when the next time I was going to sink my fangs into a hamburger? I might as well search the crates, it beat trying to navigate the endless maze of vents.

When life gives you lemons…

I brought my boot down hard on the vent cover. It shuddered and groaned, but it took another hard kick or two until the covering slammed into a few crates below, making a muffled ringing sound. I had mentally decided a few seconds ago that trying to be quiet while taking out this thing was going to be absolutely pointless—and if anyone heard me, they heard me. I was screwed anyways, I was bound to get found at some point or another, so it best be on my terms when it did happen.

I was starting to regret that cocky decision as I stared downwards through the big square gap I had created.

Slowly, I suspended myself over the gap, shoulders locked, feet dangling. Jolts of pain flew up my arm, and I let out a low hiss—just now remembering how bad I had cut up my palms before while attempting a similar feat twenty or so minutes ago. Adrenaline had kept the pain away, but now…

I jerked around, wincing in pain, practically dancing on my palms from side to side, feet swinging back and forth. Shoot. Owowowowow. This was a really bad idea—

_CRASH._

"Ow."

I laid awkwardly ontop of the few crates, surprisingly not dead or seriously maimed, staring blankly up at the vent seven or so feet above my head. Graceful as ever, Brittney. I groaned, siting up and glaring down at my seriously messed up palms under the vertical cuts across the zero-suit leather. Ow. They throbbed. They were probably also going to hurt for a really long time, knowing my luck, and come back to bite me in the *insert word of choice here*. Gosh dangit. Can I never just have a single day where everything just goes _right_? I mean, it's not that much to ask for—

Noise.

I whirled around from my perch ontop of the crate, staring fearfully/suspiciously at the door. It took a few seconds, but gradually I relaxed as the door failed to open. Had I just made the noise up in my head or somethi—

The door opened with a _'fwooooooooosh!' _flooding the dim room with light.

Life?

You can have your freaking lemons back.

* * *

**HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! Miss me? -probablynotonlychapterthree,idiotself- Sorry that update took so long! With finals coming and my AP Exam this Friday... *breaks out in cold sweat* Yeeeeeeeeeeeah, I'm a little busy. When I'm not studying till my brain bleeds, I'm trying to replinish my fun with addicting Minecraft videos, and making Mother's Day presents, and dying over the sheer awesomness that is the Avengers Movie... Hopefully after these next two weeks, though, I'll be as free as a bird and be writing a chapter every other day like I love. :3**

**Anyways, poor Brittney up there. :( Can't ever get a break. Hopefully next chapter we'll end up seeing where the heck little Bruce went off to. Any guesses from my mostly silent audience? I'll give you a virtual cookie if you guess right! -shouldn'tbethathardit'sprettyclincheobvious-**

**I am aware that Samus's zero-suit does not fly like that. Haha. I did some reasearch, if some so very small. However, it is necissary for plot development and for the need of preventing Brittney from becoming a pancake onthe metal flooring! Hehe. Yes, there will be some slight modifications to the gaming world, mostly around Samus's Power Suit and Zero Suit, but all of it with good reason! Ms. Main Heroine-In-Progress up there will learn why the suits are getting so modified later on in the story and you will too!**

**Anyways~thanks to all of you guys who suscribed and favorited... Loopy Panda, Draconis Kitten Sweetie, Smart-Person-18, etc. ;3 I love you guys. Hope to read your awesomne voices some time in the futuuuuuuuuure. *hinthint***

**In RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS~~~ **

**Loopy Panda**: Haha, glad you liked it. I do enjoy _humoooor_. Yes, I did notice a few errors when I went back *headmeetdeskaaaargh* and I'll hopefully be fixing those when I do some chapter cleaning up ahead. Yeeesh. I do plan on adding in a few more Brawl Characters- (or all of them, actually, hahaha) hopefully in the near future, and one, two, or maybe three?-will be becoming mains. Yupyup. Thanks so much for your lengthy review!

**Draconis Kitten Sweetie: **Aw, you make me blush~ :') Thank you so much for all your compliments and your review, it really did make my day. ;3 I hope to update as quick as possible!

**TheMostRandomOfRandomWriters:** Yay! I'm glad you are enjoying this story-that makes it all worth it. :D Thanks so much for your review!

**And now, I bid you farewell, those who bothered to read this far, hehe. Hopefully a new update soon? *crossesfingers* Until next time!**

-Fleet


	4. The Twisted Mind of Nintendo

Oh, _crap_.

I slid off of the crates, all soreness and aching pain completely forgotten, a ducked behind them—back pressed firmly against the wooden slats. My eyes were probably as big as two moderately sized grapefruits at the moment, and all I could hear was the curious _whrrrrrrrrrring_ sound of the R.O.B's wheels scooting over the metal floor.

Then the noise stopped.

I held my breath, hiding in the shadows of the slat. _Oh, no—he saw me—he saw me—he saw me—I'M GOING TO DIE._

I made a snap decision in less than a millisecond. This thing was a machine. He had to have seen me, and if he didn't—he would see me anyways in a few seconds now that the _whrrrrrrrrrring _sound had restarted and was getting steadily louder. Steadily louder and closer and closer and closer and freaking closer to my hiding spot _holycrapholycrapHOLYCRAP,_

I squeaked and flipped over, slamming my arms down ontop of the wooden crate and extending the plasma-gun out far and straight. All in less than a second, I took in the slow movement of the R.O.B's head as it quizzically turned to stare at me. Then I felt my finger squeeze the trigger and registered the jolt that ran up my arm from the weak kick of Newton's Third Law. All in less than a second, I watched the R.O.B's metaphorical brains (wires) explode as the beam of light from the plasma nailed the robot straight between the camera-lens eyes.

All in less than a second, I registered this.

And all in less than a second, I wondered where the heck had this surprising string of actual beginners luck come from. I mean, surely, _surely_ I couldn't have actually aimed and nailed the R.O.B. straight in the eyes. That would put a damper on the whole n00b thing I got going on. Why now? Why not when I was plummeting to my death?—although the random string of thoughts somehow triggering flames that I didn't even know Samus's zero-suit had was pretty lucky. But again—why not sooner? Why now?

I slowly stood from behind the crates, still flabbergasted that that had actually worked. I spared a moment to glance over and watch the two separate slabs of metal that made up the door slide together and close, before I walked, almost hesitantly, over to the sparking and twitching fallen parts of the R.O.B. and prodded it with the tip of my (epic) boots.

It was… dead. Even though it was a robot and wasn't alive to begin with— but I digress. One hit K.O. I felt a little bad for the thing, as I struggled to pick it up (and failing miserably) and dump it behind some crates. It was just minding its own business, coming into this storage room for who-knows-what and found itself head-shot by a severely freaked out girl.

Or it could've been coming in here to kill me. But, whatever.

Eventually I managed to hide the R.O.B. behind some crates—no need to leave incriminating evidence in plain sight—and shoved a few more crates (very heavy crates, mind you) in front of the door. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that if these R.O.B.s really wanted to get in here, a few flimsy crates wouldn't really stop them—but it might confuse them long enough for me to get my act together and crawl back up into the vents.

After doing this, I took in the rest of the storage room. It was decently sized, now that two or three big crates were stacked in front of the room. Maybe 20x10 and maybe 10 feet tall? I wasn't about to get out my measuring tape, but it would make a decent 'base' for now. The edges of the steel room were lined with shelves, which were in turn lined with more boxes and random trinkets I couldn't even begin to find a name for. Most of the crates were in the center of the room, leaving a l_l shaped walking space, which I quickly utilized and opened the nearest crate.

With all honesty, when I said 'who knew when the next time was that I could sink my fangs into a hamburger'—I seriously did not know that there were hamburgers here.

I bemusedly lifted the packaged (and probably dried) hamburger out of the crate, dangling it from my hand and holding it out at an arm's length as if it might bite me. I shifted my gaze back down to the crate, still rather in disbelief that it was filled with packages and packages of food. Brawl food. Like the ones that pop out of the crates and the balloons but with an air-sealed plastic wrapping around each.

Maybe my luck was starting to turn.

Among the strawberries, omelets, fried rice and sushi platters, there proved to be no water. They even had ice-cream in a little freezer box down at the bottom, but they didn't have water. Sucks for me. The only drinks they did have was milk, which I wasn't eager to try, and tea—which wasn't my top choice either. In the end, after struggling with the IMPOSSIBLE packaging for several minutes, I found some grapes and popped them in my mouth for hydration.

Now for the hamburger.

That little plastic package was clinging to life like nobody's business. It _refused_ to tear. I eventually got to the point of frustration where I actually shot it with the plasma-gun-paralyzer-thingy, which—to my everlasting surprise—actually worked. Mind you, the burger was a little burnt and shocked me when I first bit into it, but after peeling off the blackened lettuce and tomato—the gooey cheese canceled the gag reflex and I enjoyed my burger.

Now that I was no longer _famished_, I proceeded to ransack the rest of the room. I nearly impaled myself with a beam-sword, found several (disappointingly empty) pokéballs, but eventually found some sort of leather belt that I quickly modified to serve as a holster for that blaster of Samus's. Following, I plopped myself down on the floor of the room and leaned up against the back of a crate and entered my muse mode.

In the game, there seemed to be an enemy every few feet. Somehow, I mused as I absently stroked the Mr. Saturn I had freed a few minutes ago, I doubted that this would be the case here. There were tons of the R. before outside the complex, but it didn't possibly seem like there could be many more. Maybe now was the time to get out of this room, while all of the R. were out there . Unless there were more, half outside, half inside—in which case I was (again) screwed. But it was a pretty big facility, based on my two-thousand foot plummet to my death, the prospect of there being that many R. and Prisms to fill the entire place just seemed… illogical.

But when were video games ever logical?

_You can either sit here and waste away on packaged hamburgers, or actually take a risk and get the heck out of here, _I told myself, setting my jaw and putting the Mr. Saturn down on the floor beside me. _Now's the time to make a move. _

I made my way over to the door and pulled the crates away—taking my time, of course. No need to hurry my death along. When the doorway was eventually cleared, I hesitated a few feet away from the doorway, shifting restlessly from foot to foot—drawing the blaster from my makeshift holster.

"I'm so going to regret this later," I muttered, taking a step forward—

—unexpected door opening.

I squeaked and vaulted back over the crates.

Oh, so brave.

* * *

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Four.  
**  
_Be fully prepared for the twisted mind that of which is Nintendo._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

*insert epic stealth mode music here*

Seriously, I needed my iPod or something. All these moments where music would have been so great were just slipping through my fingers.

It turns out that the door opening randomly had been triggered by none other than yours truly. After peering over the top of the crates and watching, um, nothing, come in—I made my way back over to the door and tested the theory that it was motion activated.

It was.

Anyways, after the first few minutes of sneaking around at a _crawl_ pace with my heart thumping so loudly in my ears I thought _surely_ someone must've heard it by now—it wasn't that bad. There were practically no R.O.B's using the corridors, and nearly every room I popped my head into was either storage or I could quickly pop my head back out and run away if any R. were inside. I found that when this happened, I wasn't followed. Either they couldn't be bothered or they didn't see me—which was perfectly fine by me. Just keep on working Mr. R..

The Primid, however, were a lot more aggressive. The first time I ran into one, I had made the mistake of relaxing in the slightest and slowing down my trotting pace. I turned a corner without looking and actually walked into the thing. It was actually about my height, (which was actually a little embarrassing), and it took all in all about two seconds of us staring blankly at each other before it tackled me in the mid-section.

Ow.

I was just lucky it wasn't one of those Primid with the Beam-Swords. In that case (I had learned in my 'base' that those Beam-Swords _burned_) I would have likely died, but instead of dying I earned myself a nice collection of bruises on my stomach as I was pummeled hard in the gut by those not-very-soft brown gloves. I had eventually managed to destroy the thing by getting my legs under it from my spot on the floor and barking out a terribly choked 'FLY ON!' That managed to get it off of me, it recoiling with a nasty looking burn on its stomach that oozed purple, and me shakily raising my arm and shooting it several times in the head.

More beginners luck?

Or maybe I just had a knack for shooting things.

Or maybe I was just going to walk out of this rabbit hole without any more attacks by said Primid while riding a rainbow unicorn which spawned orange bubbles as it ran.

I was a little more cautious after that, nursing irritably my aching abdomen. I peered around each corner before I turned, always had a finger on the trigger, and was generally more careful than before. I had made a good distance from my base, always turning left when I got to a split so I wouldn't get more lost than already was, and my journey was surprisingly easy after. Any Primid that attacked me I always spotted from a distance and could nail before they got too close. I didn't have to deal too much with leaving, um, _bodies_ behind as they dissolved into creepy purple floating bubbles after I finished them—and all and all, I think I did pretty well.

Up until I found _the_ room.

_The_ room.

As in, _THE_ room.

I peered around the corner, shoulder pressed firmly against the wall and blaster close to my chest. Two Primid. Both with Beam-Swords. Stationed outside a door. I quickly ducked my head back around the corner, gritting my teeth. Obviously, something important was in there. I could risk trying to get in, which would be hard since I couldn't shoot both Primid at the same time and had zero fighting skills what-so-ever. The room was probably under surveillance too, and I could bring unnecessary attention to myself. It seemed like no one had been sent to deal with me, so far, but that could all change if I went in the room. It would be smart to avoid guarded places like that.

But high-risk equals high-reward. There could be something good in there. Something _really_ good.

Like an exit.

I flipped around the corner and took a shot at the first Primid, still half-hidden around the wall. It jumped, spazzing as the electricity jumped up its skin, and it just had the time to turn its head before another shot hit it square in the chest and it dissolved into purple floating dots.

Success, I allowed myself a tiny smile. One down—

I let out an _'oof!' _as something hit me hard in the shoulder, sending me spinning out from behind my corner and sprawling onto the white-tiled ground. Right. Numero Dos.

Blinking the stars out of my vision, I focused rapidly on the beam-sword that was honing in on me from my dazed position on the ground. I squeaked and rolled to the side, the 'bzzzt!' sound of the sword hitting the tiles ringing in my ears. I continued the roll, swirling up onto my knees and sticking one out to balance myself. Bringing the blaster up, I blindly shot three beams of light into the unfocused distance and squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the blow to come that would hurt like he—

—nothing?

I pried my eyes open in the slightest, before letting them widen as the remains of the Primid floated off and dissolved into the ceiling. "Epic," I murmured, still surprised that I had managed to hit both of them and come off mostly unscathed. The beam sword swiveled slowly on its axis, left unattended on the floor, with a low hum. I hoisted myself upwards and reached down to carefully pick it up. Pressing the small button on the side, the deadly beam of light vanished and I clipped it onto my hoister belt with the other two I had recently collected. I would probably throw two of them in the nearest supply room, the next time I found one—leaving the beam swords suspiciously on the ground in the middle of the hallway was probably not good for my stealth mode thing I had going on.

Speaking of being good for my stealth mode thing—that was surprisingly… easy. I mean, I hadn't walked away completely unscathed, but I had been expecting a burn or two in the least. Maybe even some internal bleeding. I was suspicious now, as I slowly crept over to the now unguarded door. Maybe there would be more guards inside.

The door slid open and I leapt to the side, poking my head around the corner warily before slowly pacing into the mostly dark room with my—Samus's—blaster trigger-ready. It was suspiciously dark. Why would they keep a room dark, I could barely see a thing—

_"Piiiiiiiiiiiiiika-chuuuuu!"_

I jumped, as if shocked. Which is kinda ironic, considering which smasher I had just been faced with. The room was flooded with temporary light as a bright neon-green light bounced around in some sort of glass container machine just a few feet ahead of me. As my eyes adjusted to the ever shifting light, I could make out no-other than _Pikachu _laying limply against the glass-walls of the cylinder container. I was lost, for a second, at what was happening—Pikachu turning his head and squeaking mutely inside the machine to stare at me (that made me _really _nervous, as he had probably no idea who I was).

Cue Reminder.

Quite suddenly, the machine started again, Pikachu squeaking shrilly (and I could barely hear him through the thick glass container) and the room again flooded as the electricity bubbled around the glass. It was _hurting_ him; it was _draining_ him of his electricity. It was a freaking Pikachu Generator, and who the heck would ever come up with such a freaking inhumane device for the freaking sake of freaking, freaking, power?

I was suddenly very, very angry.

_FWZT! FWZT! FWZT!_ Three shots of plasma sent thin, hairline cracks through the glass container. It wasn't enough, and I slowly lowered the blaster back to my side—eyes alight. How had Samus freed him?

Oh, _right_. My finger flicked the little switch on the side of the blaster.

The glass exploded as the plasma-whip hammered once into the now slightly-broken glass cage. Instantly, an alarm started to blare—making my head hurt—and the room began to strobe-light a blood red color. Honestly, I could've cared less, walking briskly over to the remains of the glass container and gently lifting the small little form of the pokémon out of the wreckage. He squirmed pathetically in my arms for a second before going completely limp, something that made my blood run cold. He was still breathing, thank god, but didn't—in the games—didn't he jump out of the glass and proceed to dry the crap out of the R. that burst in?

Oh. Reminder.

I turned around, still holding Pikachu close to my chest. Right on cue, about ten or so R. flooded the room—looking very, very intimidating at the moment and much less passive than they had been before. But you know what?

I was angry.

Very angry. Angry, angry, angry. Alright, so you come up with a freaking Pikachu generator that powers your entire super-secret super large evil military base. That's fine. That's a great idea, actually. But was it really necessary to torture the little guy in the process? How freaking sick, and how freaking _twisted_ was Nintendo's mind? Never mind that it was just a video game, never mind that the creators of this game had no idea that this was all actually real, never mind the fact that this is exactly the sort of thing I would write in a dark story (which is totally beside the point)—mind the fact that I was NOT happy about this whole thing, and _that_ made all the difference.

I gently placed the pokémon on the ground behind the generator, patting him once on the head—there was no need for him to see the carnage that was about to follow (insert evil bahahaha here). I stood straight, ducking as a shot from the winking light atop a R.O.B's head whizzed by my ear. I glared at the R.O.B. (he would be the first to be destroyed) and flicked the tiny switch on the side of blaster.

Time to get serious.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"Time to go, Sparky," I said, feeling uncreative in my nicknames today as I scooped the little mouse pokémon up. I stepped over the sparkling masses of R.—wondering why the heck I had not used the plasma whip earlier. It was the sole reason, now, that I no longer questioned Samus's beastliness. That thing was the ultimate weapon. I seriously needed to get one of these things.

Pikachu shifted a little, but other than that—nothing.

I, after the first long streak of un-n00b-ness I had had in a while, felt absolutely terrible. In the games, after Samus had rescued Pikachu from the generator—he had jumped out, looking pretty ticked off, and proceeded to help Samus kill every R.O.B. in sight. While I did that pretty fine on my own with the most excellent weapon ever invented, Pikachu hadn't helped. He had just… laid there in a pile of glass while I nearly died several times (trust me, it was nothing new, you don't want to hear about it) but fended them off in the end. It wasn't… right.

I had been late.

How much torture can this little guy put up with? Maybe I came an hour or two after Samus was supposed to come, maybe even three. For all I knew, I could've been a week late—and because of my slowness, Pikachu was spending another waking moment in that sick-excuse for a plot device. It was my fault that he was lying pathetically in my arms as I made my way back to my base instead of trailing along by my feet.

I cursed myself. Quietly, because I didn't need any more attention now that I was limping and had a burning hole in my shoulder from where I couldn't dodge a laser, but I cursed myself all the same.

I entered my base without my trouble. Either all the R. in the area had been dispatched to the generator room when I tripped the alarm, or I was just lucky. Either way, it was a sorry sight to see as I shoved the crates back in front of the door—wincing in pain—and practically collapsed back against them, holding the still rather unresponsive pokémon to my chest.

"I'm so sorry, Pikachu," I sighed, thumping my head back against the crate. I coughed once or twice, blinking the wariness, sweat, and blood out of my eyes before I glanced back at the pokémon. There weren't any physical wounds I could see, as I glanced over his fur, but for all I knew he could be internally bleeding or something horrible like that—

—_wait_.

My eyes narrowed, and for a second I forgot about how much my shoulder burned, or how much my hands ached or how much I hated myself. All I could think about and stare at was the little tiny piece of fabric caught behind the mouse pokémon's ear. All I could think about was the leathery feel of the fabric, and the familiar brown color and how dang similar it was to—

My eyes widened.

I gently placed Pikachu on the tiles next to me and I rolled, knees bending into a crouch. I had assumed, for the sake of assuming, that all the brawl characters I was hopefully going to avoid were all themselves to—that they hadn't disappeared and replaced by some foreigner from another world. I had assumed that I was going to be the only exception to that rule and hopefully was the only one there ever was going to be. But if that assumption was true, then why was I clutching in my palm—so feverently—a little shred of my little brother's brown flight jacket?

That was the day I learned to never assume.

Slowly, I brought my elbows to the ground and I lowered my head till my curls were hanging in my face and I was at eyelevel with the pokémon. I blinked once—twice—meeting the tired eyes of the little mouse and slowly asking—

"—Bruce?"

"Piiika-chu," Pikachu murmured pathetically, ears drooped and looking so dang adorably pathetic that it made my heart plop.

"Right," I said, disappointed, drawing my head up off the ground a little. "I'm a little rusty on my pokémon-language skills—I forgot for a second that they can only repeat their name a billion times over."

No response.

I thought furiously for a second, before re-lowering my head. "Hey, bud," I said, the cheerfulness in my voice so fake it made my stomach do flips. "I'm a little confused right now. I'm going to ask you a question, and if the answer is 'yes' then I want you to say… um… '_Pika_.' Okay? And if the answer is no, say… chu?—chu. Just _chu_. Got it?"

"Chu."

I paused.

"Good enough for me," I said, thinking about that in my head a few times. "Um, okay. First question: Are you alive?"

"…pika."

"Good!" I encouraged, patting him once on the head between his ears. "Question Two: Are you a boy?"

"…pika."

"That's a good sign," I mulled. "Last Question." I paused—the moment of truth. "Are you a Pikachu?"

Silence.

And then—

"—Pikachu."

"Bruce!" I squeaked, both strangely happy and strangely horrified at the game time in a whirlwind of giddiness. I scooped him up, holding him up and out at an arm's length, grinning like mad. "Oh-my-gosh, you're alive! And you're in a video game! With me! I'm not alone! And you're a Pikachu! Which is kinda' disturbing but at the same time so, so epic!"

"…pika," Bruce said, looking at me with lidded brown eyes, hanging limply in my arms with arms and legs dangling.

"Bruce!" I smiled again, still in that strangely happy mode.

_"Pika-pika-piiiiiiiika-chu."_

"Oh, right." I quickly put him down, where the little sucker immediately curled up into a ball. "You know, we're going to have to work on this language barrier thing. I get your general tone, but I think we're still going to have some issues."

"Pika."

"Yes!" I said happily, before quickly getting serious. "Are you hurt? Where does it hurt?"

"Chu." His voice was muffled under his furred paws.

"You're not hurt?" I asked, quizzically cocking my head to the side.

"Pika."

"You are hurt?"

"Chu."

"You _aren't_ hurt," I confirmed.

"Pika."

"You are hurt?"

Bruce lifted his head from under his paws and glared at me. "Piiiiiiiiiika, Pikachu—pika-pika."

I stared blankly black.

"So, you aren't hurt."

"Chu."

"You're tired, then?" I pressed.

"Pika."

"Okay, okay," I said, trying to back off, give him some space. Maybe that generator didn't really hurt him, just left him really tired. That would be a much better outcome than what I had hoped. "So you just want to rest a little?"

"Pika."

"Okay then," I confirmed. I was chattering aimlessly now, relieved and just generally letting off steam over all my worry that had just been deflated. "I'll back off. We can do that. Resting's good. I'm a little tired too. Rest time equals fun time. And I am a fun sister—

"Pika-chu."

"Okay," I said, getting the hint. "I'll shut up now. Time for rest."

And rest we did.

* * *

**oooooollo. Hi. Remember me? It's been like (looks at calendar) eight whole days. That's quite a while. My apologies! I was hoping to get this chapter up sooner but I just was constantly studying for this A.P. test (which is over now, YAYAYAYAY!) nd had general difficulties with this chapter over all. I dunno why. Maybe because the order went like... filler, filler, pointless filler, plot, seriousness, humorous-filler? I don't know. It took me several hours to write this one and I wasn't even that distracted.**

_**That**_** distracted.**

**Anyways-I hope you liked it! The scene where Zero-Suit Samus rescues Pikachu had always really bothered me. It just shows how twisted the mind of Nintendo really is-hehe. (just as twisted as mine, I'm such a hypocrite) Well, anyways. That's what happened to Bruce! These whole yes-no questions are really going to be an issue, as seen above. ^^**

**IMPORTANT NOTE BEFORE I RESPOND TO REVIEWS: **_**Does anyone know a good Beta-reader?**_** I'd really like one, as I know I make no sense sometimes and I would really like a nice (thought not necessarily in the personality type of way) editor. I've looked around on the Beta-Page but I'll finally find a person I like and then I'll look at their page only to find that they haven't posted anything or added a favorite since like 2003 and I'll be wondering if they're even still alive. Haha. But yes, if anyone could shoot me a PM about a Beta they know (or are) that would be aweeeeeeeeesome.**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS (or review, but, I digress)**

To _Loopy Panda: _Yes. Plot Advancement. I find it livens up the story a bit, don't you think? I feel even _more_ special to actually get a review which _starts_ the review response in the AN-thank you for that. ;) The rocket-boot idea wasn't actually mine, to be honest. I saw it in a YouTube Video called Samus vs. Master Chief which is actually a very nice action video if you're looking for something to do. And yes, Allusions. I do enjoy a good allusion-more to come. Thank you for your compliments and your review, it really made me smile! (gosh, I know, Minecraft's so addicting... gah)

**And until next time, people! Thanks to **_**Chrissie DeKourson **_**for adding this story to your story-alert-hope to read your voice one day. :)**

_-Fleet_


	5. Don't Open those Pesky Random Crates

**Beta-Reader? -hopeful smile-**

Disclaimer: Uh, yeah. I don't own Super Smash Bros Brawl, Subspace Emmissary, Nintendo, or pretty much any references I make to the real world. Sadly. If I did, I would be writing a whole lot more fanfiction with the free time and money I would have. I just own Brittney and Bruce and they're probably not going to make me rich like said stuff above. That'll be all.

* * *

"Okay, what I don't understand," I said as I ducked under a Primid's deadly beam-sword, "is why you're seemingly incapable of using your thunderbolts."

"_Piikaa_," Bruce chirped, currently sitting casually ontop a random R.O.B's head and cocking his head at me. The R.O.B. he sat on was currently doing a very good job of confusing itself, spinning around in circles repetitively as it tried to find (unsuccessfully) the Pikachu it was supposed to attack.

"I mean, it would've been helpful—considering you've managed to escape relatively unscathed," I continued, kicking the Primid in the gut and ending it with a strong lash of Samus's plasma-whip, all the while looking over at him, "while I on the other hand," I held up a hand and began counting down fingers, "have two sets of messed up palms—which I'm pretty sure are infected—have a nice shade of purple covering my entire lower stomach, acquired a large burn in my shoulder—which I got rescuing you, by the way—and my most recently developed bloody knuckle from attempting to K.O. a R.O.B. which was about to fry you senseless." (Yeah. Don't try punching solid metal, by the way. It's going to work out _just_ as well as you think it would.)

Bruce twitched his ears, and I wondered if that R.O.B was ever going to figure out that it had a pokémon on its head and stop spinning aimlessly. Eventually, my little bro's cheeks sparked and a wave of flickering electricity—that made the lights actually dim and flicker—rolled over the R.O.B's body and caused it to go abnormally still. I paused, nearly getting whacked in the head by a Primid fist, glowering at the little guy as he hoped slowly to the tiles below.

"See?" I said, wanting to cross my arms and glare harder at him—but my current situation wouldn't allow it. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. If you can do that—why not thunderbolts? A little bit of lightning here and there wouldn't be too bad."

"_Piiiiika_."

"What does that even mean anyways?" I muttered, sniping the last Primid in the head coldly and glancing around (checking for survivors). After the first incident with the R.O.B in the storage closet, I had pretty much stopped feeling bad about killing/destroying the Primid and R.O.B. They were just video game characters, after all—it wasn't like it was actually real. Sure, I got hurt every once and a while, but that didn't mean I should feel sorry for the things I've destroyed. It's like the holodecks on _Star Trek_ or something—a holodeck with the safeties off. These R. were holograms—looking real and acting real, but fake none the less—like the holograms on the show.

But at the same time, how many episodes had the Star Trek writers poured into writing about the morals of artificial intelligence like those holograms such as—what's his name?—The Doctor? And Data? I had almost always agreed with the side that these holograms or robots did have rights, etc, etc—but when I was actually faced with a real example, my faith fell short.

I pushed the issue out of my mind, coolly watching as the last of the purple smash essence floated from the remains of the Primid. Bruce was sitting up on his hind legs, staring at me and twitching his ears as I turned my eyes to him.

"Alright," I said, giving one last glance to the twitching and sparking remains of the R. , "let's hike it outa' here before fifty-billion more show up."

I slid Samus's blaster into my makeshift holster and stepped over a R.O.B's mechanical arm, turning the corner and entering the next hallway—Bruce trotting at my heels.

I didn't even notice it was the same hallway that Bruce and I had died in twenty-three times before.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

You may have thought that last sentence was some poor attempt at foreshadowing, but it wasn't. As it turned out, Bruce and I worked great as a team. After the first hour or two of us tearing through the large underground base—I developed enough of the bare minimum fighting skills so I could coordinate with the guy (meaning, I stopped running into his unpredictable line of fire). Bruce seemingly had no trouble, like I did, with working his… character? Whether since he had a new body (still can't get used to saying that) and it gave him instinctive knowledge, or the real Pikachu was messing with my head—I didn't know. Bruce could shock, drop, and roll Primid and R. alike into oblivion. I guess this is why Pikachu has always been one of the higher ranked T-tiers. Anyways, the point I was trying to get to was that Bruce and I worked well as a team (as stated before). He couldn't run off the screen, nor taunt thinking he was attacking, or any other issues we had before. Though he would frequently use me was a springboard, my head, my propped up knee, my shoulder, etc., it was a good partnership.

Bruce and I entered another one of those _THE_ rooms a few minutes later. I poked my head in cautiously as the doors slid open, and swung my gun inside while looking for threats—while Bruce (being Bruce) trotted in while fluffing out his fur and looking so cute I don't think even the most vicious of Primid would've had the heart to attack him. Until his red cheeks sparked, that is.

I slowly moved inside, unnerved by the fact that it wasn't a storage room—yet seemed to be empty. Maybe all the R. in the room had been sent to attack us a few hundred yards back. What was even more so unbelievably lucky was the fact that the room seemed... important.

Unguarded, important, lacking guards—all signs that I needed to get out of here as fast as I could.

(After I checked this out, of course.)

It was a surveillance room. Cool. Lots of screens lined the wall in front of me, all some sort of grainy pale blue-green feed, and all showing lots of different rooms. I studied the screens for a moment, wondering if they were in some kind of order so I could figure out which rooms were closest, how close the exit was, etc.

"Pika-pi!"

Bruce's general, _hey—look at me!_ chirp caught my attention. Or, at least, that's what I think it means.

I glanced over my shoulder, spying him sitting upright and waving his paws at me on some sort of metal table in the corner of the room. The room was dim enough, the only light being from the television screens themselves, but I could just make out some papers unceremoniously dumped ontop of the table. I walked over slowly, eyes flickering back to the cameras for a moment, before reaching the table and glancing down at its top. Bruce hopped to the other side of the table, spinning and poking his front paw on one of the papers in particular.

I leaned forward, squinting in the dim light, before lowering my head and taking in the paper. It seemed to be… blueprints? But for what, exactly? It took a second or two of brainstorming, but eventually as I took in the words—storage room, launch pad, surveillance room, laboratory—and the general largeness and box-ness of the picture and my eyes widened.

"Good boy," I said breathlessly, patting Bruce once on the head, eyes still glued to the map of the underground evil base that Bruce and I were buried in. Excellent. _Fantastic_. I held the map up, one hand on each side of the long paper. Now that we had a map, we could tear through this place and get outa' here.

But that would just be too easy.

By chance, I lifted my excited eyes upwards and glanced randomly at one of the numerous television screens on the walls.

By chance, my eye caught on something red and shiny on one of the boxes.

And by chance, I spotted Samus's Power-Suit.

"No. Way." I gaped, eyes widening. Bruce gave me a strange look and followed my gaze. His nose twitched as he spotted the suit, but I didn't think he quite got why I was in such disbelief.

I wasn't even sure why I was in such disbelief. There were a bunch of things swirling around in my head at the moment. Firstly, my mind was instantly blown—was this the reason Samus had infiltrated the building in the first place? To get back her suit? (hey, don't laugh—I know your mind was blown too the first time you played the game). Secondly, I thought that Samus couldn't… _physically_, remove her suit without her approval. I thought it was genetically connected to her or something like that. Which meant…

I scampered over to the video screen and hoping up on the control panel until I was practically nose to nose with the screen. Narrowing my eyes, I peered hard at the screen until my eyes burned. I couldn't quite tell, but it didn't appear to be that there was a person trapped inside the glass cage as well. This meant that the suit was empty.

This also meant that I needed to go find the suit and get it back.

I groaned, looking down miserably at the map in my hands. Just when we were going to find a way to escape—I just had to find another mini-challenge for us to accomplish before we could leave. Sure I _could_ just leave the suit, but at the same time—who in their right mind _would_ leave it?

I sighed heavily, letting my shoulders and head droop for a moment, before I straightened and leapt off my perch. Bruce was still staring at me strangely, and I shrugged motioning for him to follow me.

"Come on," I said, waving my hand at him and moving towards the door. "We have a power-suit to find."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"I'm thinking I'm not reading this thing right," I said, crinkling my brow and turning the map upside down—left and right—flipping it over.

"Pika-pika."

"We are _not_ lost!" I hissed, still walking down the hall and pausing for a moment to glare at the little Pikachu bouncing along beside me. "That doesn't even make sense—we weren't lost before… now that we have a map it makes _zero_ sense that we would get lost."

"Chuuu. Pika-pika-pikachu."

"I'm not being defensive!" I cried… defensively. "I'm pointing out that it seems illogical that we would get lost _after_ finding the map, and not before."

"Pika-pika-chu."

"You know what? Shut up," I retorted, rather lamely, staring straight ahead again as a door in front of me opened so we could walk through. "I don't care that I pretty much have no idea what you're saying and am likely making up half the stuff in my head—I can tell by your tone, mister, that you aren't being very nice."

"Pika."

I turned on him, mouth open—when I abruptly stopped, taking in the setting of the room. My face hardened, and I looked disgustedly down at the map in my hands. A faint swishing of wind filled my ears and I sighed heavily, muttering obscene words that sounded vaguely like 'are you freaking kidding me?'

We were back in the tunnel where I had started.

I glared up at the very, very far away ceiling—a frown distorting my face. Great. Wonderful. So the map I had been so excited to have found was complete and utter—

_"Pika-pii!" _

I glanced over my shoulder. Bruce was crawling over a large silver-barrel crate that I had somehow missed upon walking in and was staring at me expectantly. Oh, right. He had paws—I had (seriously mauled, but functional) hands. Curiously, I made my way over towards the crate, all the while wondering what the heck the crate was doing there in the first place. It was completely alone, seemed rather out of place, and had no guarding system that I could see. Slowly, I started pulling on the edge of the crate. It was stuck pretty tight, but I really didn't see how there could actually be anything remotely great in there—

_"OHMYGODSMASHBALL_!"

I lunged for the glowing sphere, failing epically and nearly knocking Bruce over in my frenzy to grab the ball of magical properties. The smash-ball was smaller than I expected, maybe only about the size of my palm—but it definitely glowed, and it definitely floated. As in, it was floating AWAY from me—and therefore ruining any chance I had of not actually having to go look for Samus's suit. I glared dazedly up at it from my sprawled position on the floor, just not—could not—believing my luck. Why the heck would someone put something that valuable in a random box in the middle of a random chute that I had earlier randomly flailed as I fell down it? (if it even was the same chute, I couldn't quite see the vent I had crawled in earlier) Snapping back to reality, I lunged upwards barely grazing the floating (and flying away!) smash ball with the tips of my nails.

I growled in frustration, not skipping a beat as I tossed the paper map to the ground and whipped out Samus's blaster. I wasn't so sure this would work, but hey—what was the point of not trying? I fired several shots upward—stomach clenching in disappointment as all of the shots either grazed the smash-ball or bounced off the shiny surface. Now _that_ was just unfair. I watched it go, feeling Bruce come up and press up beside my leg—playing with the idea of trying to fly up and catch it. It was ascending too rapidly though, and I shook my head mentally. Not worth it.

I glanced down at Bruce.

"Any chance you'll let me throw you at it?" I asked.

"Chu."

"I thought so," I murmured. A sudden thought hit me and I cocked my head to the left. "Man," I said, peering upwards and suspending a hand over my eyes as to block the bright sterile light from my face as I watched the smash ball float upwards and clearly out of my reach, "I really hope _that's _not going to affect the game plot in strange and hidden unforeseen ways."

* * *

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Five.  
**  
_Don't open random crates in the center of random rooms. It'__s not going to end well for someone, somewhere. Trust me._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

Meanwhile, somewhere not-too far away—

_"Poyo!"_

Zelda glanced down at the pink puffball beside her, snapped out of her thoughts. Kirby tugged at the hem of her dress, obviously trying to get her attention. It had been a long week, and Zelda eyed the little warrior warily. Ever since the attack on the Brawl Stadium, Kirby and herself had been attempting to contact and find some of the other smashers. All had been scattered around the globe of Nintendo—it was Winter here and quite close to several of the smasher's assorted holidays so they had had the past two weeks off from Brawl. The Winter Tournament finale had been just a week ago, with Kirby and Mario facing off in the final battle. Zelda and Peach had attended in support, planning on quickly leaving back to their home countries afterwards—but a sudden attack from what appeared to be Meta-Knight's ship had sent everything in chaos.

Mario had been trophified and flung off in the distance, Peach had been captured, and Kirby and Zelda had just managed to escape the force of a bomb's blast by the skin of their teeth. Zelda had actually been hoping to find Mario's trophy form as they made their escape—she knew first hand that trophification was not a pleasant experience. It wasn't natural either, to be honest. It had been an experiment by the executives of Brawl, a new kind of system that added an exciting 'element' to each brawl. It wasn't pleasant, being rendered a statue and otherwise powerless until someone freed you, and actually took the place of a killing blow. The trophy form of a battle was met with hot protest by the smashers and excitement by the viewers. With the trophy form, the smashers could fight with real swords, not just blunt ones, and go for the kill instead of knocking their opponent off the stage.

Despite the popularity with the crowd, trophy mode was eventually shut down. Sometimes a killing blow missed and became an agonizing wound that didn't kill immediately. It could take minutes before the smasher bled out through the wound in their stomach and became a trophy. While the added benefit of ensuring that no smasher could be accidently killed in battle, it was painful and brutal in return. However, a few weeks after trophy mode was deactivated—it randomly appeared again during a brutal battle between Link and Ganondorf. Ganondorf's savage blow to Link's head should have snapped his neck—Ganondorf claimed afterwards he didn't mean to hit that hard—but instead turned the hero of time into a trophy.

The technicians tried to figure out what was wrong with the system, but they couldn't turn trophy mode off. The brawls between smashers were still kept at a 'knock the others off the stage' kind of battle—but trophy mode still remained mysteriously on. Zelda herself didn't quite understand the full technology behind the trophy mode—she was pretty much clueless when it came to modern technology, as she sparred with magic—but she grasped enough to know that the scientists at Smash Mansion had absolutely no idea what was going on.

_"Poyo!"_

Zelda started again, eyes refocusing. She had drifted again—both she and Kirby were exhausted. They had attempted to access the major cities nearby, but nearly all people had already been evacuated to the Mushroom Kingdom, Hyrule, or one of the pokémon regions. The continent of Nintendo Central had been nearly whipped clean due to the mass evacuations under the threats of these Subspace Bombs. Both she and Kirby had been walking for days, trying to find the others (she knew they would show up soon).

Right. Kirby was looking at her expectantly.

"Yes?" She asked, tiredly.

"Poyo," Kirby chirped, waving his arms and standing on the tips of his toes—spinning off to the left.

Zelda followed his gaze, tilting her head slightly. They had been following this dirt road for quite a while now, but she couldn't see or hear what Kirby was getting at.

Without warning, the puffball took off and maximum speed down the road.

"Kirby, wait!" Zelda cried, frustrated and worried at the same time at his rashness, lifting an arm out as if to stop him. They couldn't just go running off towards whatever he had seen or heard, it could just as likely be Wario—which the Hyrule Princess hadn't exactly been surprised that Mario's less likeable relative had gone to the (as Marth put it) 'dark side'—whom had been equipped with some sort of cannon that ignited a trophy form. Not to mention, all the spawns of the purple subspace dots themselves—they had to stop and think for a moment—

BANG.

Zelda jumped, startled, and spun around. Her eyes widened as she spotted Bowser not a few feet in front of her, holding one of the SubSpace cannons she had just been dreading. She met Bowser's eyes, very quiet and very still.

"Bowser," she greeted, quietly—surprised at how calm she sounded.

"Sorry, Princess," he responded gruffly, tearing his gaze away. He actually sounded genuinely sorry, Zelda remembering with a pang his rather soft spot for princesses—Peach in particular. There was a high whirring sound and a glowing eminence of light from the areas around the large cannon, and Zelda spoke quickly—knowing Farore's Wind wouldn't be quick enough, Nayru's Love not strong enough, Din's Fire not good enough.

"You don't have to do whatever they told you, Bowser," Zelda said earnestly, so quickly that she was surprised that she didn't stumble over her words. "Whatever it is you want—you can't achieve by destroying this world with those bombs."

"Sorry, Princess," Bowser repeated again, voice emotionless.

Zelda tensed, but by the time she begun to take a step back in some desperate, fleeting hope that she could yell and Kirby could hear her—the arrow had already pierced her chest and she was falling backwards into the earth, stiff, cold, lifeless and so very, very afraid.

Then swarms of purple SubSpace dots swirled over her body and the remains of her vision and Zelda knew no more.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Pit flew about a hundred feet or so above the ground, loosely rolling is shoulders so his wings could power on more comfortably. It was pure bliss, finally being able to fly like this—even though it was a little too close to the ground to really have the sky as his canvas. He would've flown higher long ago, but he had hurt his left wing (and it still stung a little, but was pretty much okay now) and also wanted to keep an eye on Mario—who was running along the grassland plain below him—and make sure that they didn't lose one another.

Just thinking about the past few days made his head spin. Watching the brawl stadium explode, Palutena letting him go back to the Smash Mansion to try and help, finding Mario in trophy form just outside the gates of Palutena's clouded territory, the both of them tracking down the cloaked figured dubbed as the Ancient Minister—and a bunch of fighting. Yes, lots of that.

So far, they'd had little success in their mission (mission, as in—find the other smashers and destroyed whoever was behind all the bombings), something that had Pit a little on edge. It was frustrating trying to fight an enemy you couldn't find—or see—and even more frustrating knowing that people were probably dying while they were blindly crawling their way around and trying to get a grasp of the situation at hand.

Pit sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and letting the wind wash over him. A warm draft sent goosebumps over his skin and allowed his wings to fill up with warm and air glide upwards effortlessly. When the warm air was spent for all it was worth, Pit opened his eyes and stroked his wings downwards—glancing down below and making sure Mario could keep up. Flying was obviously a lot faster than walking—and the plumber could only run for so far. Pit lazily tilted his wings diagonally, circling back around and making a huge circle to allow Mario time to catch up. So far, this day had been rather uneventful. It had mostly just consisted of them traveling slowly along the coast towards Smashville—Central Nintendo's largest city. Mario and Pit had agreed that hopefully all the other smashers would get the same idea and meet there so they could figure things out (and hopefully located Meta-Knight's ship).

Pit glanced to the land ahead casually; the floating island wasn't far off the shore—meaning that Smashville was close. That was good—Pit's hurt wing was starting to ache under the pressure of flying for so long. Hopefully the city was only ten minutes away or so—

Pit started, squinting down at the dirt road below them. Was that—was that Link? And Yoshi? Pit felt a grin break his face as he focused in on the two figures moving along the dirt road below them. It looked like Mario and Pit weren't the only two with the idea to head for Smashville. He tucked his wings and swooped down thirty feet or so, and then dropping another fifty as he circled back around towards Mario.

"Link and Yoshi are just a few hundred feet ahead!" He yelled, once he was gliding close enough to the earth. Mario, who was walking just a bit below him, glanced up with his gloved hand shielding his eyes from the sun. Obviously getting the idea of what was happening to due Pit's wide gestures to the road ahead, the plumber broke into a brisk run and moved at a much quicker pace down the path. Pit surged ahead, gaining altitude quickly in hope of keeping a close eye on Link and Yoshi so they wouldn't lose them—

Wait.

Pit's eyes narrowed and he brought a firm hand upward to try and keep his whipping brown curls out of his eyes. It looked—it looked like there was someone else, about fifty feet off the road. It looked like… Zelda? Yes, Zelda! Great! Pit had hoped she had managed to escape the blast, but he couldn't have known as the pool he had watched Mario and Kirby's battle from had been consumed in black after the explosion and he hadn't been able to see anything. Pit shifted the angle of his wings and banked left, honing in on the spot where Zelda was standing. He couldn't quite see what she was doing—she was holding some sort of large black object that he couldn't make out—but if she turned around, the princess might miss Link and Yoshi running by. It would be best if he could meet up with her and then cut Link and Yoshi off—

—flash.

Pit blinked, swooping lower towards the earth. Whatever Zelda was holding—and it was quite large—was glowing now. Was she preforming some sort of magic? Why would she—

Pit's eyes widened. No. _Nononononono_. That wasn't magic. That was a SubSpace _Cannon_. Why would Zelda have a cannon? And more importantly—why was she preparing to fire it? Pit's eyes flickered back to the road, back to where Link and Yoshi were just coming into sight, and back to Zelda who had aimed the cannon at the approaching heroes.

It didn't make sense—but there was no time to think. Only to act. Pit tucked his wings close to his back, suddenly forced into a steep and fast dive. His bow was summoned and split in half; the ground approached at lightning speed; the cannon made a high pitched _whiiiirrrring_ sound, harmonized with Mario's cry of alarm as he noticed Pit falling fast and—

FLASH.

Zelda jerked back from the two split and smoldering remains of the flash cannon as they crumbled to the ground. Chest heaving from his quick decent, Pit took one step backwards into a fighting stance, half of his bow in each hand. Uneasily, Pit eyed the Hylian Princess. She didn't look… right. Her skin was, although she was fair normally, far too pale and seemed to emanate a dark purple glow. Her eyes were a bright yellow of a dark feline and stared coldly down at Pit as she took a slow step back in the way Zelda always had before a fight.

Behind him, Pit could hear Mario running up behind them and sliding to a halt a second or two later.

"Zelda?" Pit asked quietly, uncertainly—knowing something was wrong but at the same time not quite believing it. "Are you alri—?"

—WHAM. Pit let out a gasp as a strong blast of Din's Fire nailed him straight in the chest. It burned, like normal fire did—not just the bruising force that Zelda used during brawl—and it took quite a lot of Pit's strength not to keel over as it charred the front of his tunic and sizzled on his flesh. He staggered backward, and Mario leapt forward with a furious fire attack and a cry of his own. Breathing heavily for a second, Pit eventually tore himself back towards the forming brawl with one arm protecting his chest.

Zelda was a formidable warrior. Her magic attacks were strong, especially when she allowed the full dark power and painful edge of the magic to seep through—and her Din's Fire devastating to the point where one flaming ball could end a brawl before it began. Not to mention how his arrows bounced off her Nayru's love and Mario's punches met air as Farore's wind cast her away. It seemed for a while that Zelda might actually win—and who knows what would happen if she did?

But slowly, and surely, Mario and Pit began to gain ground. They outnumbered her, after all—and whatever seemed to by possessing her made her movements sluggish at times with inexperience. She was wounded, pretty badly, when Mario and Pit had cornered her against the small cliff edge she had been standing on to attack Link and Yoshi before. Warily, Pit approached her from the left, holding his left arm to cover his burns from her fiery attacks. Zelda looked as ever calm, cold, and calculating as before—despite the fact that she seemed to be in obvious pain—staring him down as if she could stare into his soul.

Pit almost didn't catch the way her pupiless eyes flickered to something behind him.

Zelda suddenly stepped forward, one gloved hand swooping upwards and summoning a Din's Fire. Caught off guard, Pit ducked—blinking bewilderedly as the attack sailed wildly above his head. Slowly, Pit turned his head to stare at her. What was she planning? Maybe all the damage Mario and himself had caused was finally damaging her incredible accuracy.

All of a sudden, Zelda began to glow all the more bright. The dark purple that had flooded around her skin began to alternate and flicker—as if she had somehow accessed the power of… the power of a _Smash Ball. _Pit stared, eyes wide—head whipping over his shoulder and staring at the space in which he had watched her Din's Fire disappear over his head before exchanging a horrified glance with Mario. Surely, surely there hadn't been a Smash-Ball there? Where could it have come from? And more importantly—dear Palutena, Zelda had a smash-ball!

Pit had just the time to turn in a panicked frenzy back towards Zelda with his shield drawn—had just the time to watch the beautiful bow he had seen her before handle so elegantly form out of pure light in her hands—had just the time to watch her pull an arrow that gleamed and sang of gold light and pure deadliness—and had just the time to blink in surprise and horror before the light arrow pierced his chest and he was flying…

Black.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"GAH!" I yelled, startling awake—heart pounding, chest heaving, head jerking upwards and smacking back against the steel metal wall behind me. In my lap, Bruce shifted and pried his eyes open sleepily—twitching his ears at me.

"Pika?"

"My god…" I murmured, curling my legs up and close to my chest—shaking my head. Bruce and I had slipped back to our base after several more hours of searching to hit the bed. Or, in other words, hit the small little cave of crates and blankets we had put together in hope no Primid could sneak up on us. "I just had the weirdest dream about Ripple-Effects," I said, aghast.

Bruce twitched his ears again. He probably had no idea what a ripple-effect was. I shuddered once, chasing away the chill that had crawled up my spine. "Oh, well," I shrugged it off, curling back up into the pile of blankets we had made. "Back to sleep like tomorrow's going to be a totally normal day of beating R.O.B's up again. Surely nothing bad happened that caused a shift in the force so great and dark that it managed to scare me awake in a horribly written attempt of foreshadowing."

"Pika."

* * *

**Hello! :) It's me again after another eight days (I think I'm developing a system here, hm...)-I'm sorry, yet again, it took so long! However, these chapters seem to be getting progressively longer-something both awesome and tedious. I'm rather unsatisfied with this chapter in itself, I felt like the ending was too rushed and the plot too scattered. But maybe that's just me. -worry, worry-**

**Anyways, school's out in four days! WHOOOO! Anyone else excited? After school's out, I should be pumping out chapters alot quicker (unless they keep on growing in size, 5,500 words this time!)-maybe every three days or so? Maybe? Hehe. Anyways, my author note is going to be surprisingly short today. Shocker! I just don't have too much to say/ask of all... eight of you who are following the story. Maybe a few more of you will write your voices today? -hopeful smile- I'll have the next chapter done in five days if you doooooo~**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS**

To _Gamerguy555_: Thanks! I'm really glad you liked it. :) Seeing another review added made me really happy!  
To _Chrissie DeKourson: _:D You wrote your voice! You have no idea how happy that makes me, seeing that my pleads for attention actually work. Hehe. (But in all seriousness-thanks for your review! The compliments weren't pointless, as they helped me to know what people liked and pushed me to write more (though I'm sorry to say there wasn't as much humor in this chapter, mostly plot... )  
To _Loopy Panda: _You have no idea how awesome that would be. You'd like... get a spot in my mental hall of fame and a special thanks credits roll script. :D Hehe. I could say the same to your review! Satire, kinetic imagery-sounds so... sophisticated, haha. And if you liked plot advancement last time, I hope you didn't drown in it this time. ;) Thanks again so much for your review!

**And I think that be all! (yes, that was intentional misuse of grammar, don't sue ;) ) Until next time!**

-Fleet.


	6. Always Be Suspicious

**Beta-Reader? :3 **

Disclaimer: It is with great sadness that I report that I do not own the things called 'Nintendo', 'SSBB', 'Samus', 'Pikachu', 'LOST', 'Disney', 'Plasma-fried-pancakes', or anything along those lines. If I did own any of these things, I would be so rich that I would have other people write my disclaimers for me. Yeah.

* * *

The door opened with a faint hiss. Cautiously, I stuck my head around the corner with narrowed eyes—plasma-gun held tight against my chest. As Bruce trotted into the room, seemingly without a care in the world, I rounded the corner at an assassin's sneaking pace—gun carefully extended outwards and eyes flickering from side to side.

I couldn't believe it. Nothing was in here, nothing but Bruce and myself and—Samus's battle armor. Unguarded. Seemingly without traps.

That's _tooooooooootally_ not suspicious at all.

Bruce and I had head back to our base after a few more hours of searching (fruitlessly) the underground lair for an exit or Samus's power-suit. To my irritation, and Bruce's exhaustion, our search came up empty handed despite the set of blueprints we had acquired. The blueprints had little to no writing on it, and it was difficult to determine a bathroom from a weapon's factory (we did find a few bathrooms though, much to my surprise (do R.O.B. even use the bathroom?) and gratitude—though it was pretty awkward, it just doesn't feel right taking a leak in an enemy base). After taking a few hours rest—and having some delicious plasma-fried-pancakes—we pressed onward onto the next room on the map that we hadn't secured.

As luck would have it—we got our wish on the first try—and you've been caught up to the present… in the past tense. Huh. That's really kinda hard to wrap your head around.

ANYWAYS—back to my suspicion.

Bruce trotted up to the glass container surrounding the gleaming power-suit, and before I could stop him he placed a paw up on the glass. I slowly relaxed as he wasn't electrocuted or shot and walked slowly up beside him.

"Pika-piiika!" Bruce chirped, glancing up at me with perked up ears. He must've just gotten that we were looking for the power-suit, based on his excitement.

"Pika-piiika," I agreed, putting a hand on the glass as well, not even knowing what I was saying. I glanced up, kinda in awe of the suit itself—such an incredible piece of engineering… whether genetically or technologically I didn't know. "It's also way too convenient."

A low humming sound brought me back to reality. I whirled around, watching in horror as the long metal bridge I had crossed to get to this island platform which held the suit curl in on itself and pull away. Pull away in towards the main door, not towards me. Pull away and leave me stranded on a platform island that for all I knew could collapse and have me fall to my death.

Again.

"Oh, shoot!" I cried, whirling fully around and darting to the edge of the island as the remains of the metal bridge pulled away. "Nononononono!"

Bruce stared at me quizzically, trotting up to my side, not getting how infinitely serious this was. It was so stupid! _I_ was so stupid! Why in _underworld_ would I walk into a room where the potentially most valuable piece of armor in existence was being held and was seemingly unguarded? This was a new low of _n00bness_ coming on—

—footsteps. Heavy and metallic on the circular steel platform. I froze, the tiny little hairs on the back of my neck standing up on end. Oh, shoot. Not unguarded then. Great. Perfect. Absolutely wonderful. Amazing. Magnificent. Fantastic. I'm-running-out-of-words-to-describe-how-freaking-HORRIBLE-this-was.

I finished the longest turn-around in my left and stared with an unnatural coolness (I was freaking out inside, don't worry—I didn't magically grow some legit bravery here) at… them. Them as in two seemingly perfect replicas of Samus's power-suit; both shaded various purples in the dark way that only brawl could instead of the normal red and green. My mouth went dry, and any sarcastically witty one-liner that I had been planning died in my mouth a horrible, bloody, death.

"Um…" I trailed off, glancing to the ground. Slowly I lifted my gaze back up to the dark Samus(s)—who cocked their arm cannons—and gave an awkward smile and tiny wave. "…hi?"

* * *

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Six.  
**  
_Don't walk into seemingly unguarded rooms with valuable objects inside expecting it to be actually unguarded._

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

Silence.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" I screamed, ducking as a missile flew over my head. There was a resounding boom and a screech of metal. Bruce shrieked and the lights flickered, glass shattered, and—quite unsurprisingly—all the forces of _underworld_ broke loose.

I bolted. Bruce bolted in the opposite direction. For a moment, both Samus(s) stared in confusion at one another before one broke off towards me and the other towards my little bro. Bruce was doing a pretty dang good job of keeping himself alive—darting around the tall glass suit container. The Samus swung its arm down onto the ground, trying to smash him in, and Bruce seemed to laugh as he dodged, jumping over the arm before swirling back around to scamper back up the arm and dive at the helmeted face. There was a spark and a screeching sound from within the helmet—enforced by some sort of electronic speaker—before Bruce leapt down, weaving between the flailing legs and darting between them.

Through the metal legs, you might also see me running for my life.

I sprinted along the edge of the island platform, dancing precariously close to the edge—frequently shooting glances over my shoulder at the quickly approaching Samus hoping—praying—silently that is might be as close to losing its balance as I was. I let a string of choice words; glad that Bruce was nowhere near close enough to head them—and another sharp panicked glance over my shoulder revealed that the Samus was only closer and raising its arm cannon my way. No escape. My future consisted of myself as a charred piece of flesh on the metal ground. _Oh, well_, I thought grimly, it was going to happen anyways. _Now's a good time as any, I suppose—rather than something horrible and far more likely incident of myself falling off a cliff or something. _

_…Unless— _

"I hate my spontaneous ideas that are likely going to cause me physical and mental pain," I ground out through gritted teeth, pumping my arms rapidly as I sprinted. The edge of the platform rapidly honed into my blurry view and I could barely stop myself from… stopping… as the amount of floor ahead of me rapidly ran out. And then it actually ran out, and I promptly groaned something that came out more or less like, 'I'm soooo going to regret this,' but with a lot more words that I can't repeat as my boots precariously tipped on the edge of the platform and launched me off in a half-sort-of dive into the black never-ending hole beyond.

"SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!" I yelled, both out of fear and to remind myself what I was supposed to be doing here so I wouldn't _actually_ fall to my death. I pressed the tiny little button on the handle of Samus's blaster; tried to (and actually succeeded) spin onto my back in mid-air; lashed out with the growing glowing plasma whip, all the while cursing myself and praying to God that this would actually—hopefully—work.

To my utmost and everlasting surprise—it did.

The end of the whip stuck to the underside of the metal platform and I was suddenly stopped from falling to my death with a surprising smoothness. (Alien technology—best out there.) I had enough experience—to the bare minimum—of falling to my death to the extent that I was able to keep some sort of level-headedness while falling and managed to bring both arms around the blaster. My legs locked and I pulled upwards with my arms, successfully managing to somewhat aim my swing as the whip slowly stretched and the swing turned to a sort of extremely fast arch around the platform.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" I yelled, rather exhilarated and surprised and actually not hating every second of this. I was moving so fast—swinging in a neat circle about the platform. My shoulder's hadn't popped out of place—they didn't even hurt—the fall had been slowed, not abruptly stopped, the Samus was watching me with a sort of confused and shocked look on its face (or I assumed it had one on, I couldn't see behind the mask—but body language people, body language) and this was actually working out really well! I mean, I was having a string of bad luck there—when's the catch going to come and make everything horrible just when it was getting good?

_Oh. _I thought sullenly, watching the wall of the room get close very, very quickly, _there it is._

"FLY ON!" I shouted, swinging my legs up as the whip began to let up.

Bruce, meanwhile, was doing fine. Great, actually—and I'm not being sarcastic for once. He had somehow crawled his way onto the Samus's face. The dark Samus was staggering around, unbalanced by the weight, trying to pry him off with one hand and an arm cannon without shooting itself in the process. Bruce looked amused by the whole thing, or so I gathered as I flew (by gravity, not by thrusters) into them both—sending all three of us sprawling. Yeah, the whole 'fly-on' thing hadn't worked out too well. It had sent my flight path from straight to rapidly shooting up in a perfect arch as my arms were still attached to the whip. The whip—seemingly reaching its limits or somehow sensing my desperation not to be torn in half—disconnected and I went flying up and backwards onto the platform (promptly crashing into the battling duo).

I slid across the slick metal floor, spinning on my stomach and Bruce on my head. _Ow_. I lifted my face from the floor with a bit of struggle, jerking it back so Bruce would get all his forepaw's weight off my face, surprisingly unhurt side a few bruises I would feel in the morning. The dark Samus had broken my fall, despite being a hard metal robot. It was currently picking itself up off the floor, with an annoyed aura to its movements as it placed a hand on its head and shook it. The other Samus came up behind it, walking of all things, and they both exchanged a glance before their arm cannon's _whirrrrrrred_ and they began approaching us.

"Crap," I said plainly. I flipped onto my back—ignoring Bruce's annoyed cry of protest—and scooped him up before leaping to my feet and running towards the container that held Samus's power suit. Bruce promptly squirmed in my arms until I loosened my grip—following in which he crawled up my arm and onto my shoulder. I ignored him and slipped around the back of the glass container with the Samus(s) not too far behind. I ran back around the other side and they—in an irritated fashion—changed directions as well, trying to cut me off. I whipped back around and sped back around the opposite side, causing them to change too. It was a classic 'keep away' game using the glass as a barrier between them and me. Hey—don't give me that roll of your eyes!—I know you do that too every once and a while! And it works, doesn't it?

Well, it works unless two people are chasing you. In which case they split up and both go around one side to cut you off. In which case you would just run away to somewhere else. Unless you've been promptly backed up against the edge of a platform and you're not quite sure whether you can mimic the Tarzan-like move you did earlier.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

My foot slipped on the edge of the platform and I narrowly caught myself before I fell, arms flying up and a panicked glance thrown in the direction of the dark Samus's. I needed an escape plan—NOW.

But that was just it.

I always needed an escape plan. I always ran away. I couldn't think of a time where I had actually stood my ground when an enemy rushed at me. I would always retreat and defend until I could come up with a better position, a better plan, a better way—an unfair advantage—to help me win. Always fighting with the unfair advantage, never fighting unless it was had. My foot slipped on the edge of the platform again, and I clenched my teeth as I regained balance. Time to make a decision. Did I want to fight when the unfair advantage was turned on me?—or did I want to run again?

Well, I always was a fan of character development.

I ducked as a missile flew over my head and lashed out with a kick towards the Samus's abdomen. I twisted on my other foot as the boot connected with the hard metal, throwing Bruce up in the air (who squealed) and ducking again as the other Samus made a jab at my head. The Samus I had kicked grabbed my foot with the hand not consumed by an arm cannon, and I had just the time for a mischievous evil grin before shouting "FLY ON!"

The Samus staggered back as the full power of the flame hit it squarely in the chest. It also, rather unfortunately, propelled me forward, and I was doing some sort of handstand and trying not to unlock my arms (ow, potential face slam into metal) while the fire continued to power on. I made the mistake, or decision, to try and flatten myself and ended up spinning in such a way that made me incredibly dizzy (but also clipped the other Samus in the jaw). I must've blearily managed to think 'fly-off' because the pressure on my boots disappeared and I let my arms unlock and allowed myself to neatly roll to a sitting position. I stood, ducking again as another flying fist head my way, and lashed out with another kick. Bruce leapt under my leg and tackled the adjacent Samus's face before I spun around, swung my arms around the Samus's neck, and rolled myself onto its back.

Oh how I wish I'd tried those mechanical bull rides before now.

The Samus scraped at my hands with weak metal fingers, attempting to pry my hands off from their death grip around its helmet. I shifted my hands slightly, making its head snap back from the new pressure, and I latched my legs onto the small indentions between the hips and stomach plating.

Then I held on for dear life.

I bashed its helmet with the butt of the plasma gun repeatedly, gritting my teeth and trying not to slip. These were apparently some really cheap copies of the suit, because I admit I was surprised to see the gun actually making a large indent as I bashed it in. Eventually of course, the Samus rid itself of its ride, curling up into such a tiny ball and rolling away that I was left blinking in shock for a moment.

Then I grinned and gave a mighty kick.

CRACK! The suit staggered back to full size as it slammed from my epic soccer kick into the base metal part of the real suit's container. It actually looked decently tired as it rushed me, and I leapt backwards—squeaking as I met the metal chest plate of the other Samus. I decided to take five and sat down, rolling back as the other suit actually s_tepped over me. _Uncurling, I stood up rather slowly, getting—OW—a kick in the head for my troubles.

I staggered for a moment, seeing stars and blurry figures—that when I shot them—disappeared. Huh. Eventually the blurriness stopped and I scowled at the swimming figures of the Samus's.

O.

IT.

WAS.

ON.

The brawl escalated to something of a blur. Bruce and I fell into some sort of pattern. I kicked, he jumped, I shot, he shocked—until it felt like we were some duo of blurry movement. Unstoppable. Graceful. Unbeatable. We were moving so fast it was crazy. We just _knew_ where the next blow should land, where the other was going to be, how hard to punch, when to duck—it was like we had been doing this out entire lives.

But we were human. Well, 50% human. We were tiring. It was time to end this. It was also time to duck as a Samus from one side rushed me, and the other one powered up some kind of huge missile thing that I did not like the look of.

Right.

Ducking.

Unless—

Bruce was leaping and I snatched him out of the air, squeezing my eyes tightly shut and holding him close to my chest. Then—

"—FLY ON!"

BOOM.

It was like something out of a movie. I had never seen the enemies I had encounter so far actually take each other out and go sprawling across the floor. What was even better was the fact that I had front row-seats as I began falling the short distance to the ground, finger on the trigger, landed on the Samus's chest and finished the fight with a single squeeze.

Or, two single squeezes.

Silence.

I closed my eyes, breathing heavily for a moment. I felt Bruce come and press up against my leg, making me smile. I opened my eyes, revealing them to be surprisingly bright and unsurprisingly tired and grinned. "HIGH FIVE!" I crowed, and the little guy jumped—doing something that resembled his recovery move from brawl and quick attack—shocking me. "Ow—okay, no more high-fives. But—HOW AWESOME WERE WE?"

"PIKA-PIIIIII!"

"I KNOW, RIGHT?"

And then the alarms started going off, making the both of us jump. Oh, right. Valuable object in the room—might want to take it and scram before the backup comes in.

Valuable object… very EPIC valuable object…

I turned gradually to stare at the suit, blinking slowly. It was gleaming in the bright harsh light of the room, reds and oranges and (of course) the dark green of the arm-cannon… I moved towards the glass container, staring up at the suit of armor with a glint in my eyes. I reached to press a hand up against the glass, and was surprised to find my hand pass right through it and even more surprised to see the glass shimmer before my eyes. The Samus suit jolted to life with a sudden low hum and light began to shine along the cracks I had not yet noticed.

"Piika-pi!" Bruce squeaked urgently, and I could head the metallic rumble of R.O.B. close outside the room. "Pikachu-pikapika-pii—"

"—SHHH!" I said, snapping up a hand without tearing my eyes away from the suit. "Trying to have a dramatic moment here!"

The doors opened and nearly a dozen R.O.B. began to pour in from the red-strobing hallways and into the room, pouring onto the metal bridge (which had conveniently reappeared), lasers ready to fire and destructive power simply pouring off their beings—

_BOOM._

Smoke poured out of the doorway as the R.O.B. were flung aside, smoking and withering. As the fog thinned, Bruce and the REAL Samus suit slowly walked out of cursed room, the end of the power suit's arm cannon smoldering from the sheer power that had just been unleashed. I surveyed the carnage carefully, smile beginning to warp my features. You couldn't see the smile, but you might've seen the hope in my eyes from behind the green visor. Why was there hope?

We had some destructive power of our own now.

* * *

**Sorry for the delay! ^^ I know I really don't have a good excuse, but the past week has been really busy and whenever I got a break I'd just spaz and run to, um, do important stuff. (coughminecraftcough) However, I am pleased to say that during this short delay, I managed to almost-finally finish the chapter layout for MMB+B. I'm really liking what I put together, and I added many more scenes that I hadn't thought of before that I think are going to be simply EPIC. Right now, the story's looking to be about 25 chapters—but it may vary as I edit it/finish the final layout. ;) According to my layout-the next confrontation with the smashers will be the next to next chapter from now and should be... pretty cool. (I'd figure I would mention that since you guys seemed to like the last chapter a lot)**

**Anyways, speaking of this book-how would the readers out there feel about a parallel story? I've been messing around with a few chapters for a story that tells (spoiler alert) where exactly the real Samus and Pikachu were this entire time, and how Brittney and Bruce' absence is dealt with in the real world (no, it's not some lame excuse of no time actually passed, that's too cliché for this story of clichés) I was planning on publishing it after this story was completed, but I've found that the stories actually interact and effect each other alot more than what I originally thought. The only negative thing about this plan would be that I'd have to publish both update to each story at the same time, which might mean my update time would be slowed. If I did publish the parallel story after this one was over, the whole seeing how they affect each other wouldn't be destroyed-it might actually be more enjoyable once you get all those 'aha!' moments, or the opposite could happen and the effect could be lost. :P Whadda' think?**

**IN REPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS!**

To _Gamerguy555_: Thanks for your review, and your compliment! I'm glad you liked that chapter-I was a little worried about it. I will take your kudos and deposit it in my kudos bank! *salutes*  
To _WingedFish:_ Well, thanks for your review! It's always so exciting to get a new reviewer, I always freak out and absolutely melt with happiness. I know it's spotty, hehe ^^; that's one of the main reason's I'm looking for a Beta Reader: my eyes just fly over the word-document sometimes and I don't realize how little sense I make sense at times/incredibly stupid spelling/grammar errors. Thanks once again, I'm glad you were amused, that's really the goal of the story: to generate massive quantities of amusement until people just can't take it anymore. Heheh.

**And I think that's it! Remember to tell me about your thoughts on the parallel story! Until next time!**

_Fleet_


	7. Convenience is NOT your Friend

**Disclaimer: I don't own Brawl. Geez. Leave me alone.**

* * *

We were walking down a random hallway, which would probably empty into another random hallway, which would probably have several random rooms that were unimportant, and maybe—if we were lucky—something of relevant plot importance. This was all after some delicious plasma-fried food of course, coughing mildly on the delicious part, and we were relatively well rested. After running for a few minutes away from that accursed room, we had slipped away into a near-by room that suspiciously resembled a broom closest (but really? Did they really need to sweep?) and watched as reinforcements panned by. I had been tempted to jump out and test out this new powersuit, but the strange readings across the visor screen were worrying me, and the automatic aim was driving me crazy (it was a love/hate relationship). I had just intended to stay there a moment until all was clear—but when I turned around to grab Bruce so we could make a beeline for another room after a lull in the Primid racing through the hallways, I found him lightly snoring ontop of a crate in the back of the closet.

I had just intended to let him sleep for a few minutes—after all, we had just woken up less than two hours ago—but when I sat down, I blearily found myself waking up to a light beeping and flashing inside the helmet a few hours later. You have no idea how much fighting for your life takes out of you. I had blinked, staring at the little flashing box less than an inch from my nose. It read 'incoming call'—but after a few minutes of me struggling to figure out how to answer it, the box suddenly flickered away. Huh.

Weird.

Anyways, I was continuously impressed and annoyed by the suit after I woke up Bruce and we started making our way down the outside hallway. For one thing, I was impressed that the suit actually fit me so well—l had thought Samus was like two feet taller than me or something crazy like that. I was also impressed, that after I had held the blueprints up in front of my face when we had started to move again, the suit had started taking these readings automatically (or maybe I had somehow suggested it subconsciously) and created this cool map that I could easily zoom in and out of by thinking so on the visor. It was pretty epic too, to say the least, when it started mapping out several pathways through the digital map and a flashing 'EXIT' word had popped up at the end of one of the lined paths.

"Cool," I had said, voice coming in a strange elctronizied tone that made Bruce flick his ears at me in irritation. "Now how about a manual? And some answers?"

Nothing. It had been worth a shot though—I was more of a 'figure it out as you go along' type of girl anyways.

Right. Back to the walking down the random hallway. Except, it wasn't just a random hallway—it was a hallway lit up on the map inside the helmet, and the random hallway it was supposed to empty into was claimed to be an exit room. Hm. I knew better than to get excited though, as the doors in front of me parted and we entered the room, for all I knew this map could be complete and utter bogus.

_Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiich_, I stared blankly at the large and very familiar looking shaft we had just entered, _it probably was._

I sighed heavily, letting the helmeted head droop. "Lemme see the paper map," I said, pawing at the air in Bruce's general direction.

"Chu."

Right. No fingers.

I took the map from the little pouch that he was offering with strangely sharp teeth that I had gleefully decided to add as his main accessory (he had to carry his own weight, you know what I'm saying?). "Alright, Bruce—here's the plan," I said, unfolding the map delicately with the metal fingers of the suit—it was quite a tedious task—"I know how epic we are as a team, beating people up and stuff, but the sooner we get out of here, the sooner things will start progressing in the game. I think…"

"Pika." Bruce twitched his nose.

I finished unfolding the map and peered down at it, saying, "Glad you agree." After a moment, I glanced upward—glaring suspiciously at the tall metal chute. "HEY. Haven't we already been in this room, like three times now?" I spared another glace down at the map. "This map says we're in a different room now—but I swear we've been here twice before (or, I have at least)."

I glanced around the room again, trying to take in the details. No ventilation shaft cover lying on the ground, no random crate in the middle of the room—was it possible that this was a different room, or was life just messing with my head again? Well, I guess it _was_ possible for the room to be different—video games were always very repetitive weren't they? As far as I could te—

WHOA.

"Was that door there a few seconds ago?" I asked, doing a double-take and staring at the faint outline of a door on the far side of the chute.

"Pika."

"You mean…" I trailed off, furiously trying to shove it back down but the excitement was unbelievably powerful as it hit me, "This map actually works? This really is the exit? Holy crap—we're free?"

"Pika," Bruce said patiently.

I laughed, still not quite believing it, smile crossing my face from behind the visor—totally forgetting the warning of this chapter, the warning that convenience was never your friend. I was just too happy. You have no idea how daunting and depressing this underground lair was. Waking up every day to only see metal, endless metal, and not once seeing some light from the sun—only light from the far too bright fluorescent light bulbs— I was honestly scared for my sanity here.

But now—I could see our freedom. How grand was that?

Ridley: Trolololololol…ssssss.

* * *

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Seven.  
**_  
Convenience is never your friend._

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

A shadow passed over the ground in front of me, consuming the whole world in a dark shade of black for a half a second.

I blinked.

Then I swore.

I whirled around, arm cannon half raised, and had just the time to think 'FIRE!' before something slammed into my chest and the lights and sounds inside the helmet were going crazy. I figured that had to do something with the odd feeling of gigantic metal claws slowly squeezing the armor that protected my much more squishy and loveable self and making every sensible system in the armor go freaking insane.

I was flying, but at a thousand levels more terrifying then when I was wearing the zero-suit as the outer armor. I had about two seconds to process—as I was soared very, very quickly a hundred or two feet upwards into the shaft—that what was holding me was in fact some very large, very scary looking claws that were attached to a very scary and scaly looking arm, which was in turn attached to a very scary looking dragon thing.

_Ridley,_ my brain supplied. _From the Samus Games. And not as in the Hunger Games—as in the Meteoroid Game Line. I think— _

And then I was promptly slammed into a wall—in which I then said: "Aasdfghjkl;'lkjhgfdsgjhkl;j."

_Oh, this was just great. _I thought. Or, I would have thought that—if my brain wasn't completely and utterly shutting down. Ridley wasn't just slamming me into the wall and letting me plummet to my death, he was slamming me into the wall and crushing me into it with his huge claw hand.

And then he did it again.

And again.

Oh, but that time—he didn't just slam me in the wall, and watch as the suit began to take toll and spark dangerously. He didn't just watch as I was shocked multiple times by the suit, or as my head crashed forward into the wall and blood began to spill down over my eyes—he held on and dragged me along the wall, nicely adding his own personal touch to the décor of the chute.

This…

…this was going to kill me.

That was pretty much the only thing I could think. I had very little experience with this whole thing, barely enough to scrape together enough instinct on how to kill two very inexperienced and weak copies of Samus's battle armor. Did I really even have a chance against this giant beast of a creature? When it finished me, it was going to eat Bruce for dessert. I hope he had enough sense to run and hide, if he died it would look really bad on my babysitting portfolio. Plus, if by some chance I managed to out last Bruce in the stomach acids of Ridley, I would be rather devastated.

I really, really hoped Bruce had run. Because, God knows—after I died, he couldn't take on this monster—he couldn't even form some half-witted lightning bolt—

"—CHUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!"

_What?_ I thought blearily—right before some white and hot and generally painful soared up the suit and made the lights across the visor flicker and beep out of control, and also right before Ridley gave this huge shriek of pain and the claws dangerously close to breaking through the armor and to my skin suddenly slipped free with the sound a sword might make coming out of its sheath.

And I started to fall.

Again.

WHAM. The impact of armored legs slamming into the metal ground proooobably should've broken every bone in my legs. But, you know, Alien technology and all, all I really felt was a small unpleasant jolt up my spine as I hit, and a little grimace in comparison as my knees buckled and they slammed into the ground. An arm of mine flew out and caught myself before I completely collapsed face first into the ground, and I supported myself there—breathing heavily, blinking blood out of my eyes, sweat probably pouring down my face, blinking dangerously slow against the flashing lights before my eyes.

"Oh, so _NOW_ you use your freaking lightning!" I ground out, voice choppy and uneven in the electronic blare, looking at Bruce sideways with irritation sparking in my eyes. This, was, of course, before I my vision turned blurry, and then to tunnel vision, and before the arm holding me up slipped and the helmet crashed into the metal ground.

All I could see at that point was a very hazy view of the floor through the visor that didn't quite look right, the floor was all at a strange angle or something. All I could feel was like, I dunno—I had just been electrocuted several times, slammed into walls, gathered a concussion, and stuff—as well as something warm and wet trickling down my face and how awkwardly pinned my legs felt and how incredibly heavy this suit and my eyes were. All I could hear was a loud shrieking, uncomprehendable screeches of a certain Pikachu, and a roaring that filled my ears like the flash-back transition from LOST or like a wave on the beach—which, I couldn't tell.

All I could decide before I completely passed out was that this had not been my week.

* * *

**SHORT. -shot-**

**Um... Just click that little story width button at the top of the page under the story summery and click 1/2. :D Much longer now, see?**

**...**

**I****'M SORRY. Somehow on my chapter layout thing, it made it look like in my head that I could totally somehow make a 4000 word chapter completely out of Brittney getting the complete and utter crap beaten out of her. I couldn't change it either, because I think the next chapter's going to be really long. Or so the layout says... I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO BELIEVE ANYMORE.**

**Yeah, so-Brittney getting creamed. Kinda depressing to write. I'm too attached. SOMEONE SAVE ME BECAUSE IT'S ONLY (probably (checks layout)—ooooor most definitely) GOING TO GET WORSE FROM HERE.**

**Ahem. So, I'd like to give a big shout-out thanks to GAMERGUY555 for (unofficially) Beta-Reading this chapter for me. :'3 He (I'm assuming he hence the name) is so awesome. You guys have a lot to thank him for if those face-palm reading errors were starting to bother you as much as they were bothering me.**

**ON THE PARALLEL STORY. I received several suggestions, many of which were in PM for some reason. xD Don't be shy, guys. From writing the parallel story in _this_ story, to not writing it at all (yeah, thanks for your support dear sister xD—she's a little touchy on the subject since a character based off of her is involved) I've decided to do... …um... nothing. Nothing as in I CAN'T MAKE UP MY MIND ASFGHJKL:L;lkjhgfsghl;aALKJHG (in the words of Brittney). Hopefully I'll decide by next chapter and let you all know. ^^;**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS.**

To _GamerGuy555: _One more time, you rock. xD I'm glad you liked the fight scene, plenty more to come. O-O I must sharpen my (in the fancy awesome wording of Loopy Panda) kinetic imagery for these upcoming chapters. Red and Green do not make Purple, they make an actual really ugly brown color. What's up with your color-wheel math? Just kidding. ;) I saw that, and I will fix it upon chapter ten when I do my chapter clean-ups. Oh, joy. Thanks for your review!  
To _ThePersonofAwesomeness: _ThePersonofAwesomeness, you are, in fact, quite awesome. You made my day writing your voice. :'333 In fact, I pretty much owe it all to you for writing this chapter so quick. Reviews are my inspiration! Okay. I'm done praising your awesomeness (hence the title) and onto your review- I KNOW ME TOO ASDF;l;kjhgahjskl;'ASKLJ. Sometimes I drag my little bro over to play brawl and I open the Samus Pikachu level and just stare at it. Hoping. Which is kinda sad-but good for the credits reel. :3 Thanks for your praise, and your review. :) I hope to see more of you.  
To _Angelfan123_: TWO NEW REVIEWERS IN ONE CHAPTER? *hugs* You rock. Thanks for your review, and your idea. ^^ I'm so surprised I didn't actually think about that, and I'm still debating on whether to do that or not. The only con to your idea is length. Two roughly 4000 word segments equals a roughly 8000 length chapter. Both the readers and I might loose interest in reading/writing it, and I really don't want that! I'll have to see though, it's a veeeeeeeeery good idea. Thanks for that!

**And I'll say good-bye now. And apologize for my spazziness. I dunno. This chapter just feels... spazzy, so therefore I must be spazzy in the author note. And lengthy with pointless chatter. xD Until next time!**

-Fleet.


	8. Icecream

**PREPARE FOR 836 WORDS OF FEEEEEEEELS.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own... this stuff. Yes.**

* * *

Someone was poking my face.

And it was annoying.

It wasn't just annoying, it was also pulling me back to reality (well, reality as in back to non-reality that was claiming to be my reality now) which I did not like. Reality was painful. Reality reminded me how completely beat up I was—how it felt like every fiber in my body was throbbing and how my stomach was clenching dangerously and how I s_till_ was going to have to get up, because apparently getting the crap beaten out of you wasn't enough to earn you the right of someone else taking over for a while, maybe taking you to a freaking hospital because life was just completely and utterly whumping you right now.

Poke.

"Aaaarrrrrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…" I said. Groaned. Moaned. Mumbled. One of the four.

The poking stopped and I let out a breath of satisfaction and tried to return to blissful blackness.

After a minute of trying to do so, I realized that I would have no such luck. The pokes had made me coherent enough to remind me of how dangerous it probably was to go back to sleep, probably the poker's intention, much to my weary disappointment. Slowly, I let my eyes slit open , instantly regretting it as the harsh florescent lights of the underground base glared at me and made my head spin enough to let me decide that I honestly didn't care if someone found me right now and that I was going back to sleep.

…

Poke—

"—OH MY FREAKING GOD BLESS AMERICA!" I wheezed, trying not to use the Lord's name in vain (I was going to need all the help I could get, seriously) and bolting upwards into a sitting position. I glared over at the blurry shape which had been pawing at my face. "STOP THAT."

Bruce dissolved into giggles.

I collapsed back onto floor, breathing heavily and trying to blink away the extra-big head-ache I had just given myself, as well as all the blurriness and dangerous spots. Somehow, either I had taken it off, or Bruce had managed to paw it off, the helmet was gone—rolled a few feet away as a blurry red shape. Was it bad that I honestly had no clue which one it was? Probably. In fact, I wouldn't remember half of the last chapter/warning until later in vague grasps in the future.

"I hate you," I muttered almost affectionately, pawing half-heartedly in the direction of the guy. He easily rolled out of my reach, and I gave up—letting my hand fall onto the ground. I breathed heavily for a moment, letting the pain ease for a while. Ugh. I play water polo—it's a sport kinda' a mix of soccer, football, and hockey… but in the water—and I'm pretty used to be utterly exhausted and beat up. One time, during out championship match, I was playing a position closest to the goal (and got the ball the most) and was going decently well. Great, actually—considering how poorly I had been doing earlier that summer—and we were all tied up during the last minute or so of the game. You can imagine how much the person guarding (pressing) me was intent on drowning me during those last few seconds when my team got the ball. Well, the person guarding me slipped up and I made a pass to someone who made the winning score—pretty much sealing the entire game in our favor (I mean, there were like 10 second left). Girl got so ticked off at me that she socked me three times in in the ribcage and slammed me back into the goal-post. I ended up with two snapped ribs, one which punctured a lung, and a concussion. The people who had to clean the pool were probably not very happy with all the blood I got everywhere. (Insert :P here) Well, if the other team had any chance of getting another score—it was pretty much ruined, and I had to go to the hospital after my less than coherent babbling on 'did we win?' and 'ohmigosh coach, you have blood on your hands!'

So, if I felt worse right now than then—though I was pretty loopy in that last story—I seriously hoped there were no more boss battles in my near future.

Speaking of boss battles, the thought triggered a sudden memory flash. Oh, right. How did I get beat up again? Mr. Ridley I believed. So, if I was still alive—and this wasn't some complicated purgatory—and Bruce was still alive as well…

…then… where was…?

Slowly, I arched my back from my spot on the floor, rolling back my head and eyes flickering in the upside-down world behind me. I let out a breath of air that I didn't even realize I had been holding, disbelievingly flattening down onto my back. I _would_ be lying in the shadow of the one who just beaten me to pulp. Slowly I sat up, the arm cannon on my right _whiiiirrrring_ in preparation, eyes closing behind the visor—

—and then I turned around.

* * *

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Eight.  
**_  
Ice-cream._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

Um.

_Looks like this isn't going to be an action packed chapter after all, _I thought bemusedly, breaking the fourth wall while simultaneously nudging the limp and squishy form of Ridley with the tip of the armor's boot. Bruce was leaping over the body like it was some sort of demented playground and I rolled my eyes. He would.

But I was… puzzled, to say the least.

I lightly kicked the bridge of Ridley's long and dragon-like face, watching it limply turn over. I very vaguely remembered walking into this room, being picked up and tossed around like a rag-doll—and then being dropped for some reason. Maybe I had hit Ridley somehow? After falling, I had passed out—that part I remembered the best—but had Ridley been dead at that point? I didn't think so. In fact, I was 82% or so positive that he hadn't been. But if he hadn't been dead, and we were still alive, then that meant—

I slowly glanced over at Bruce. He had stopped leaping from limb to limb and was watching me look at Ridley's remains with a curious expression on my face.

"Did you…" I started, looking for the right word, "…_beat_ Ridley?"

"Pika," He said, fluffing out his fur and looking as adorable as freaking possible.

"Nuh-uh," I said, shaking my head, and averting my eyes, "That's not going to work on me. I am immune to your cuteness-tactics. How did you beat him? With a thunderbolt?"

"Pika," He nodded, flicking his ears.

"No way," I said firmly, shaking my head. "All this time you didn't use a single thunderbolt and now you're trying to tell me that you used a thunderbolt to take down Ridley?"

He gave me a look, like—_you're the one who suggested it_!—and nodded. "Pika."

"No."

"Pika."

"No."

"Pika."

"NO."

"Pika—"

"—OKAY, WE'RE DONE HERE." I gave one last annoyed kick at Ridley's body, dragging myself _out_ of getting dragged _into_ a 'yes/no' war. Geez. I spun around, staggering for a moment as the world tilted sideways. I blinked rapidly, taking a hand up to my head and feeling my hair stiff with crusted blood. Wonderful. I was really glad, and really annoyed that I didn't have a mirror. Maybe I could find that stream I had heard earlier several days ago and get all this blood out of my hair/face. Until then, I reached down and pulled the helmet back over my face and hummed slightly as the screen blinked to life, hopefully no one would be looking at my face anytime soon.

Bruce padded up to my side, looking incredibly smug as if he had just won the not-argument we were having. It made me want to kick him (lightly). I was… fuming at the moment, to be honest, despite my rather stoic face behind the visor as I began taking unsteady steps towards the exit. I was remembering little pieces at a time—a nice knock to the head will do that to you—but it didn't take much to figure out how much I had gotten whooped. Plus, it was right when I had found an exit (sound familiar?), and was in a rather underhand tactic of swooping down and picking me up from above. I didn't have a chance, not even a little one, to make that a fair fight, and that annoyed me. Infuriated me. Made me a little irritated that Bruce had somehow managed to take Ridley down by himself and left nothing for me to tell exactly how it felt to be beaten to pulp. Bruce's smug aura just ticked me off a little, and it would pass, but my annoyance was more directed at the whole unfairness of the whole thing.

Moreover—I didn't want to admit it, but losing so bad had scared me. Terrified me, actually, how easily I had been taken down. It didn't really surprise me, but it was still a little scary to realize how squishy I really was—how easily my far too short life could be ended in one foul swoop. "Argh." I kicked a scrap piece of metal up into the air—staggering off balance slightly before I shot the piece down, dissolving it into billions of flaming tiny pieces with one missile. This whole thing had killed the auto-aim systems as well, making my life even harder than it was. This was intense mode—it was only going to get harder from here. I was probably a bit loopy, the power-suit which I had been so glad to find had been torn through in some spots and damaged, I had minimal fighting skills and even less idea of the whole plot of this game—

—I had no chance of beating this game.

The realization made me breathless, like someone had just socked me in the gut—which they might as well have, it's not like I wasn't totally beat up anyways. I knew I didn't have a good chance surviving in this game, but the whole boss-battle thing had really snapped my world into perspective. I barely survived this one. I would _not_ survive the next one. I was never getting home. I was not going to magically become some warrior and beat an intense-mode game that I couldn't even do hiding behind video-game controls.

Bruce stared up at me curiously, wondering why I had abruptly stopped in the center of the tunnel. I glared at him, eyes so muted behind the visor of the suit that I don't think he even could tell that I was challenging him to point out how close to breaking down I was. I was not going to be able to protect him. I was not the invincible warrior he thought I was. I was no brilliant big-sister he rarely argued with, the sensei he claimed me to be in brawl, the person he seemed to idolize for some god-forsaken reason.

I was no hero.

I started kicking up all the metal plates, all the destroyed parts of Ridley's body and the room walls, whirling around and shooting them all down in fiery flames before they crashed to the ground. Somehow, Ridley's body caught on fire from one of the plates and pieces of ash began to float around the room—caught in the breeze of the room from the vents—gathering in number until it seemed almost like serene falling snow. I shot the place until the lower walls gleamed with black burns, but I was so angry and so scared and so _sad_ , not for me, but for _him_, that I didn't stop until the screen began to flash warnings of low power and even then not until I saw Bruce staring at me in a way that I didn't understand. He was probably wondering what I was doing, why I was so angry, confused to what was so wrong with his hero. He was only six, after all.

I stopped, staring at Ridley's blazing body, head bowed in the slightest and arms limp at my sides. It was so unfair—he didn't even understand that we were going to die. He didn't get it that I wasn't going to pull some magic trick and save the day—like that one time when he dropped his ice-cream cone on the sidewalk and I magically produced another from behind my back, to his delight.

It had been my own ice-cream cone.

My shoulders slumped.

Then they set.

I was no hero.

But, dear god, I was going to try.

"Let's go."

Bruce followed me silently.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

When we exited the door, which had opened automatically as expected, I was blinded momentarily by the flooding of natural, _good_ light that hit me in the eyes. It only took a moment for the visor to adjust to the sunlight and make the world a shade darker, but I didn't quite care. I wanted to take of the helmet to feel the sun on my face and the wind in my hair (cheesy, but _sooo_ true)—but I really did not feel like taking off this helmet and exposing my already bruised cranium for more than necessary. So, instead, I just enjoyed the view of the outside for the first time in what felt like a _very_ long time. Bruce's momentary solemnity vanished upon his first view of the outside. The little guy had squeaked before dashing off into the clearing—and I didn't protest. I almost wanted to run after him in the sheer excitement and relief of finally seeing the daylight, but I was still hurting physically.

The outside looked like some sort of scene out of a storybook. While behind us was the evil lair of the R.O.B., ahead was what looked like to be some sort of ruins. It wasn't very big, and seemed very run down to the point that the ruins only consisted of a few arches and fallen pillars. Bruce was running along one of the pillars happily, to which I cracked a smile. Until he jumped off the other side of the pillar and out of sight.

"Bruce—slow down," I called, picking up the pace a little.

Silence.

"Bruce?"

Silence.

"Bruce?" I asked again, a little more worried now, upping my pace to a jog.

Silence.

I didn't burst into a sprint until I heard him shriek.

_Oh, god-bless-freaking-America, _I thought, panicking in the slightest as I honed in as fast as I possibly could towards the pillar. Adrenaline flooded my system, dulling the pain to the point where as I vaulted the pillar with one hand I barely felt a pang of soreness. "Bruce—!"

I found him sitting on his hind legs and staring up at me with such an excited awe and smugness that I wanted to kick him (again).

"Don't… do that," I wheezed, finding it hard to be stern now that I saw he was okay and was thoroughly out of breath. "And don't run away… okay? Scared me… half to death."

"Pika-pi!" Bruce chirped, unphased by my panic.

"Why are _you_ so happy?" I asked, brow wrinkling behind the visor and straightening from my bent over gasping for breath position. "You should be scared of my wrath… or something like that." I had always been scared when our mom was scared-angry-wrathful at me, I had assumed the older protective sister thing would kinda' carry over the action.

If it was possible for a Pikachu to grin—Bruce did.

My eyes flickered to the patch of grass directly behind him.

No.

Freaking.

Way.

I voiced as such and Bruce's grin grew.

Slowly, I moved forward, almost cautiously. Slowly, I parted the tall grass with the power-suit's boot and confirmed my shocked suspicions. It was a trophy. A trophy, as in a life-sized, slightly washed out version of one of the smashers. This was one of the last smashers I had expected to see, especially in trophy mode—so incredibly far from where I had last seen them in the game.

It was Pit.

Pit—as in the winged smasher who had teamed up with Mario from one of the earlier parts of the Subspace Emissary Plot and had been doing absolutely fine the last time I had seen him. How had he gotten trophified?—and more importantly, what was he doing here?

I knew very little about trophies. I knew that smashers, and only smashers, were turned in trophies upon defeat in battle. In the game, defeat meant being knocked off the stage—I had honestly no idea what being 'defeated' meant here in this real-life version of the game. I knew that other beings could be turned into trophies with a blank trophy base—but that was only a one time deal and they stayed like that permanently. You could take someone out of trophy mode by hitting the gold platform base that each character was perched upon—and the trophies themselves seemed to be pretty light and realistic. I didn't know what happened to the person inside the trophy, whether they went unconscious or something like that—but if you were turned into a trophy, it seemed like you were stuck there until someone helped you out. Mind you, most of this was likely wrong—as the game itself and the real-life version seemed altered slightly on the details.

I stared at Pit's trophy for a long while. Finally, I said with a slow sort of hesitation, "I… I think we should just leave him there. We don't know how he got there, or if we're even supposed to find him or not. Samus and Pikachu could find him, or someone else could later on in the game. For all we know, he's supposed to stay here for the rest of the game." It seemed unlikely, but possible. "I don't want to mess with the game plot too much, we should avoid interacting with the characters as much as possible—HEY."

I hooked Bruce around his midsection and kicked him up into the air as he made a wild lunge for Pit's trophy base and caught him in my arms. Spinning him around and holding him up under his arm-leg thingies at an arm's length, I gave him a stern look. "What do you think _you're_ doing?"

Bruce's ears flattened to his head.

"What did I just say?" I pressed.

"Chu… pika-pika-pikachu…" he muttered a response.

"Exactly," I said, having no clue whatsoever to what he just said. "While it may seem like a good idea—detrophifying Pit is a very bad one. You look like a Pikachu, yes—but I do not look very much like Samus and cannot hide behind this suit forever. Plus, I can't take this suit off because I'm wearing the zero-suit underneath and I am NOT taking that off just so you can appease your fanboyish wishes. We are sticking to a low profile so we can get out of here alive, got it?"

"…Pika."

"Good," I said happily and put him down.

Bruce immediately lunged for Pit's trophy base.

My eyes widened. "GOOD LORD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE—oh, hey, Pit."

There had been a flash of light and a strangely melodic rushing sound. Quickly following, the figure that had been so statue like and perfectly frozen fell backwards onto the ground as his perfectly stiff limbs became limp and unable to hold himself up like that. Pit was no longer a trophy, lacking a golden base, and began to breathe and open his eyes and_ DEAR GOD I AM SO SCREWED._

I almost ran.

But I didn't. Why? Because, now that Pit's hair was flushed with color and his toga gained shadows and color—I realized that his skin was still as paper white as it had been before. Either this guy needed a serious tan, or maybe, just maybe, something was wrong. I stared for a moment, taking in the closed eyes, labored breathing, glistening of sweat, and finally the almost blur of movement as the avian rolled from his sprawled sitting spot on the ground and promptly got sick behind the tall grasses.

Yeah… something was probably off.

Eventually, Pit rolled back around—myself freezing in place even more than I had been before, and opened his eyes to meet my own. He gave a very thin, weary smile. "I hate that."

_Getting sick or trophy mode?_ I wanted to ask, but it was pretty obvious it was the latter. Instead, I gave a bit of nervous laughter, resisting the urge to crouch down (because I suddenly felt very tall with Pit on the ground and Bruce at the height of my knees) because that didn't seem like a very Samus thing to do. (insert :P here) "Are you okay?" I asked instead.

"Those were not my favorite two days of my life," he admitted, giving a small cough. "But I'm okay now."

I gave him a once over. Looked like he was about to fall over? Check. Slight tremor of the limbs? Check. Pupils as dilated as underworld? Check. "_Riiiiiight_," I said, after a moment, and I was about to say more—probably something along the lines of 'adios'—but Bruce interrupted me. How rude.

"Piiiiiikaaaaaah!" He squealed, leaping forward and nearly tackling Pit to the ground with a leap into his lap. I twinged, almost embarrassed, but Pit didn't seem to mind—smiling weakly and patting him on the head.

"Where are we?" He asked, glancing up, one hand still affectionately scratching Bruce's (Pikachu's head, I reminded myself—call him Pikachu) head.

I blanked. "Um…" I started, full of intelligence.

Pit craned his head, peering around me and at the ruins. "Are we on the floating island?" He asked disbelievingly.

"We're on a floating island?" I blurted out.

Pit gave me a long look. "You don't know where we are?" He asked, brow crinkling in confusion.

"…it's a long story," I said quickly, surprised how I serious I sounded and how little I stumbled over the words.

Another long look. Eventually, after giving me a once over, "Is it also a long story to why your suit is a foot smaller than normal?"

Crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap.

"Yes," I said firmly, trying not to sway or shift uncomfortably. "Let's just say that I—" I gestured towards Bruce in Pit's lap, "—we've—had to pull ourselves out of a lot of _tight_ situations." My hand flicked back over my shoulder towards the evil R.O.B. base, in which the door could just be seen. "Not a fun story there."

Pit stared at me expectantly. Oh, wait—he wanted to hear the story now?

"…but it is also a story for another time," I said quickly. "We need to get out of here—"

_Whrrrrrrrr…_

I whirled around, arm cannon at the ready, Pit just stared curiously, and Bruce completely ignored the sound from his happy-place on Pit's lap. I slowly lowered the arm cannon, still suspicious, as the sound registered as R.O.B's wheels moving and I spotted two of R.O.B. ignoring us as they pulled along some sort of cart carrying what looked to be a Subspace_ Bomb_ into the R.O.B. evil base.

"Time to go—" I spun on my heel, pretty concerned with NOT getting blown up in some evil-brawl-purple explosion.

I froze as I felt Pit grab me lightly at the elbow, giving him a stare over my shoulder. He wasn't quite looking at me, more in a wide sweep back from the direction that the R.O.B. had presumably come. "I think…" he said slowly, voice for some reason rather hushed, and I followed his gaze, "…that's where they're making the SubSpace Bombs."

I finished following his gaze and my heart sunk as I spotted another Rabbit-Hole. "What makes you say that?" I asked hollowly, remembering just how destructive these bombs were and—if Pit was right—how important to the game to would be to destroy the place where they made them.

"Because I remember R.O.B. telling me about how they had a section on their island where they were making new members of their kind," Pit took a step forward, tilting his head and attempting to get a better look at the doorway. "And why would they have two exits to the same building so close together? It makes sense that that doorway might lead to a new section of the building all together—and if we can guess that those R.O.B. came with the bomb out of that door—"

He left the sentence hanging—and I tried to process all the information he had just thrown at me about this supposed floating island. First, R.O.B. was a smasher. I forgot about that. I think he was just a random, extra powerful R.O.B. that fought in brawl. Secondly, apparently this is where the R.O.B. lived as a species? And thirdly—they were making more? (that part was a little alarming) Then I thought about Pit's point. A bomb factor would make sense, Pit's argument to why the factory would HAVE to be RIGHT in front of us (so convenient and horrible all at the same time).I sighed heavily. Stupid arguments that make sense but suggest doing something I don't want to do.

"Look, Pit," I said eventually, waiting until he turned around and looked at me before I continued, "Br—Pikachu and I barely got out of _that_ place," I gestured off towards the R.O.B. base, "alive. These places are heavily—"

"Barely?" Pit blurted in, sounding like me for a second. Concern filled his eyes and he gave me a once over. God-Bless-America, he really was an angel. I saw the registration fill his eyes as he took in the extremely battered power-suit. "Are you okay?"

I shook my head dismissively, despite how dangerously that made me dizzy, "I'm fine. We're both fine. The point is—these places are heavily guarded. I'm not sure we could take down this bomb factory and still live to tell the tale."

Pit was silent for a moment. Then—"We have to at least try though," he said, rather… sadly. "These bombs killed a lot of people at the Smash Tournament. A lot of innocent people. If we let this go unchecked, even for a day while we get reinforcements, a lot more people could die."

I couldn't think of anything to say to that. Geez. Heroes. Hate working with them. They have a way of getting inside of you and making you feel like a horrible person while still managing to say something completely motivating and life-threatening with a kicked-puppy yet still determined look on their face. What wa_s_ I supposed to say to that? Who cares?—those people are just a bunch of pixels anyways, and I really don't want to die because I have zero-fighting skills! I was pretty surprised I hadn't given myself away so far, but anything I said but an agreement would raise far too much suspicion.

So I sighed silently, before meeting Pit's hopeful eyes, knowingly fully well that I would regret this in the morning.

"Let's do it," I said.

* * *

**Hey guys! I'm trying to get this chapter up before my ride gets here, so I'll be brief- and I'll answer your reviews doubly-time next time. **

**Long story short: Lots of feels in this chapter, eh? And we get to find out what happened to Pit!**

**And I will explain what happens to the the parallel story next time! Gotta go!**

**-Fleet**


	9. EPIC MONTAGE TIME

The water was glassy and still above my head. I blinked once, the clear water not bothering my eyes, and a small stream of bubbles fluttered from my nose for a second before stopping. My hair floated dreamily around my face, swaying as I tilted my head up and peered at the surface of the serene water. I was sitting on the bottom of a small lagoon, legs folded in Indian-style and my hands laid on my knees. My lungs had been emptied, letting me sink and sit on the stone bottom with ease.

It was quiet. Silent, actually. I blinked once or twice, completely calm—heart beating at a pace probably slower than healthy. I just sat there, staring up at the glassy surface, for nearly two minutes—before my swimmer-powered-lungs gave the slightest of itches and another stream of bubbles left my mouth.

Cue to leave. My legs unfolded, and curled underneath me. Gently, I pushed up, letting density push me towards the surface of the water. My head broke the surface and I let out a huff, shaking my head and heavy hair; blinking drops of water off my eyelashes. The water was… cool—I had asked Pit earlier for the date (my systems in the suit were… 'malfunctioning') and he told me it was around late November, which day he wasn't certain. This sounded about right for the date back at home, but it was a bit… less… snowy than I thought it would be. Believe me, it hardly ever snowed back at home in Texas, but it still seemed rather warm for the late date.

I voiced as such, and Pit had told me that the R.O.B. on the island had somehow managed the positioning of the island to move daily so the warm-drafts from the ocean would always keep the island a suitable temperature for the island's diverse wildlife.

Um… good for them? It was interesting stuff and all—but my curiosity had been dimmed in the recent weeks. When my life was not under constant threat, I would definitely want to learn more about this virtual world—but now? I was just glad that it was warm enough to take a dip, and the trees were still green and fertile enough to create this secluded lagoon like glade for me to finally get all this blood off my face and hair in.

"Let's do it," I had said.

Pit's face had lit up.

"After you sit down or something," I added. "You look like you're about to fall over."

"I'm fine—" He protested, face curling into one of determination. Of course, he said this while swaying.

"Um…" I gave him a once over. "Not really."

"I can fight!"

"Yes," I agreed. "If you're going to fight a puppy or something. Just take an hour or two's rest—and then we'll storm the factory—okay?"

"People could die," He protested, getting that 'I'm going to endlessly argue with you until I pass out' look on his face.

I tapped him on the shoulder. Pit's eyes widened and he staggered backwards , wings fluttering slightly and arms pinwheeling in attempt to keep balance, before he promptly fell backwards onto his back..

"You're not going to help anyone like _that," _I said, taking a step forward and leaning over, giving him a stern glare from behind my mask. "Let your body recover—and then you can fight the enemy to your little heart's content. I've personally never been in trophy-mode that long myself, but if you feel as bad as you look—you're not going to be saving lives anytime soon."

"But—"

"Dear God," I pinched the bridge of my nose. Or… I would have, if I didn't have a helmet on—so instead curled my hand into a half-fist and placed the jut of my wrist where my bowed forehead would've been in utter exasperation. "You're acting like _m_—someone I knew." I took a long blink, twisting my head in an irritated fashion for the briefest of moments, before giving him a long look. "Listen. You can either go in there, fight by yourself, and die within an hour—" I paused for dramatic effect. "—or you can come with me and rest for that hour or two in which you would've died."

I stopped.

Then I turned on my heel and stalked towards the woods.

"Where are you going?" I heard him call after me.

"To go take a bath!" I shouted back, not turning around.

I don't know if he thought I was serious, but after a long moment of myself thinking he might not come—I heard him jump up and begin to follow me.

"Pika-pika-pika-chu," Bruce said beside me.

"Why, thank you," I said, smiling tiltedly. "I thought I did rather well too. He was as stubborn as—"

Bruce gave me a look. One similar to my frequently used, 'are you freaking kidding me?'

I cut myself and ignored him.

I heard Pit race up behind us, breathing heavily—probably a lot more worn out from the short walk than was healthy—and he said, "Okay, okay—but only for one hour, alright?"

I cracked a smile.

It was quickly replaced by a scowl. "That's up to my judgment—'_alright_?'"

He mumbled something that might've been, 'alright.'

Geez.

Freaking Heroes.

* * *

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Nine.  
**_  
Prepare yourself—for EPIC __MONTAGE_ _TIME. :D_

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

I stepped out of pool, shaking my hair like a dog and flinging water everywhere, after another twenty-minutes or so of mildly enjoying myself. Like usual, now that the damp hair was not crusted and stiff with blood, they curled in upon themselves and bounced around my face. I fooled with a curl, glad for something familiar, and made a humming sound—more like a tone than an actual tune.

I stood there in the sun for a while, letting the water drip off me and into a small puddle on the smooth stone of the lagoon. After Pit, Bruce and I had made our way into the forest—I had wandered around randomly until I heard water. Then I instructed Pit to sit down _'before-you-freaking-pass-out'_, received another long look before a compliance, and Bruce happily deciding to stay with him.

I smiled. Pit had asked me where I was going. He _was_ an angel—a puppy like angel—and this puppy-angel had blushed pretty bad when I turned around and told him to '_sit down and stop trying to follow me because no, I'm not going to go fight the R.O.B, I'm actually going to take a freaking bath.'_

The lagoon I had found was pretty neat. I had brushed away some willow curtain to stumble upon this little grove with a tiny (and rather pathetic) trickle of water that might be called a mini-waterfall lagoon. The water had looked calm enough and I took off both suits (don't worry guys—for those that like mental imagery, I still had a layer of clothes on underneath… thank God…) and jumped in. In-this weird warm November floating-island weather, the water was pretty nice. Not too deep, a lack of man-eating pixel creatures, not too cold—all and all, as the blood washed away and the sting of the water lapping at wounds faded, it was a pretty good find.

I slipped the zero-suit back on after sufficiently drying myself off and eyed the power-suit carefully laid out on the stone a few feet away. It had come off like a normal suit of armor, despite how mystical it had seemed when I first (literally) stepped into it. It wasn't… right. Stuff wasn't right. This whole THING wasn't right. I was like 87% sure that Samus's suit was genetically attached to her. Genetically attached—as in, it formed around her at will, and disappeared when she willed it to go (or she died/lost consciousness). A whole 87%. So why was I allowed to wear her suit? And, ignoring that, after I had put it on for the first time—why was it acting like, I dunno, a normal suit? Why was it attached piece-by-piece instead of one fluid machine?

This was all so…confusing.

Why did I bleed? Why didn't I turn into trophy mode? Why was Pit so weak after trophy mode? What was trophy mode? Why were the R.O.B. so developed?—like a peaceful race out of a sci-fy movie gone wrong or something? Why were they acting as the enemy, when Pit seemed to think that these R.O.B. were peaceful and masterful and stuff?

I had so many questions.

_And YOU_, I thought, picking up the flat, ice-cold, nearly transparent stone I had found all the way back in Warning-Two. _When are YOU going to reveal your essential plot importance and give me magical powers or something awesome like that so I don't DIE?_

But that stone was just a stone. I was searching for a lifeline, a god-sent gift, to save me—when there was nothing to find. I sighed, tucking the stone back in the high leather-collar of the zero-suit, wondering why the heck I even kept it. It was awkward, always freezing, and pointless in my make-shift pouch around my neck.

I thought about skipping it across the surface of the lagoon and watching as it sunk below the surface to be forever lost.

But I didn't.

"Feeling fine, huh?" I muttered, almost affectionately as I wandered back into the clearing where I had left Bruce and Pit. I was fully decked out in Samus's amour, ready to fail at acting, but Pit was sprawled out with his back against the tree, head back and eyes closed—completely passed out (sleep wise, I hoped). Bruce was lying in his lap, one hand still resting on his side, and he blinked at me sleepily before what could have been a grin crossed his face.

"That's fine," I said to no one, moving across the clearing and sliding down with my back to a tree trunk. "I'll just go over here and bask in my rightness, maybe try to get a grip on this whole world-spinning-concussion thing I got going on—stuff like that."

I didn't even realize how much I was hurting and exhausted until I sat down. Whatever. He'd be waking up or something anyways sometime soon—I'd just have to wait until he woke up for something. There was no way I was going to wake him up despite my agreements to 'one hour', even if he wouldn't admit it—Pit had looked terrible. He probably had been seconds from keeling over before we had stopped in the clearing. Rest healed wounds, after all. (most of the time)

I thought about splitting. I didn't want to be here, and I definitely didn't want to go inside the bomb factory. The game would end without me—and hopefully, it would send us home. Just waiting it out was the best option—I could've easily taken Bruce out of Pit's hands while and made a run for it while he slept. The avian would probably think I went ahead without him, or was captured heroically or something.

I could've run again.

But I didn't.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"You've been very… quiet," Pit said, eventually as he casually shot a Primid between the eyes with a blazing light arrow.

I huffed, ducking under a beam-sword before whirling and slamming the Primid's head into the ground with my one fingered arm. The arm cannon on my other side pushed the Primid's head further into the steel before blasting it to bits—a neat hole now where the center of the Primid's head should be, which leaked purple before the whole body dissolved. Of course, by that time—I was already blocking another blow towards my head, blocking it with the cannon, and wishing I had another cannon on the other arm. (Insert :P here)

I punched the Primid in the face instead. It went down on its back, where it was savagely attacked by a very fluffy Pikachu in the face.

"If it's because you think I was mad about you not waking me up after that hour," Pit said, worriedly, "I wasn't that angry. Just disappointed at myself for falling asleep, I guess."

Oh, good god—he really was an angel.

"What?" I said, so shocked for a moment that I lost my place and was promptly slugged in the head. I went down hard, spinning from the force of impact before my chest slammed into the ground (quickly followed by my head). I let out a '_whoosh'_ of air, hands flat on the ground in my failed attempt to catch myself. I pushed myself up off the ground slightly, vision going blurrily dizzy for a moment, the nasty cut on my head threatening to reopen again.

Someone stomped on my back and I pursed my lips together in frustration, flipping over and blasting the Primid to pieces. I sagged back into the floor for a moment, breathing heavily. There was a twinkle, a FWACK and the lights in the room flickered as a sparking POP was heard. I rolled my eyes, Bruce was far too dramatic with this whole 'I CAN CONTROL ELECTRICTY _RAWR'_ thing.

Pit's face leaned over my visor, kicked puppy look back, dancing wildly. "Are you okay?"

I waved his hand away. I was probably a good hundred pounds heavier with this armor on, and nodded. "I know—I know. I'm fine. Perfectly… fine. I'm… I'm just a little… hungry I guess."

I couldn't—and wouldn't—say I was tired. Or that I was exhausted. Or that I was hurting, dizzy, in pain, etc—all which I was. So I said hungry, and thoroughly confused Pit. That was the main reason I was barely making a peep throughout our entire adventure into the bomb factory—but more importantly, the less I said—the less Pit had to work with to put two and two together and figure out why nothing I said or did or looked like made sense.

Slowly I stood, bracing my non-cannon arm on the wall for support. God freaking—the second I got home I was going to go to my bed and curl up in a ball for a while. I _tsked_, shaking my head. Concussions eventually healed by themselves right? There weren't any ways to help them die quicker, as far as I knew.

"You're… you're hungry?" Pit asked skeptically. He grinned boyishly for a second, gesturing towards what we had discovered to be another storage room a few feet back. "If you want—there's some dried hamburger meat back there—"

"No," I said feigning terror, and bringing my arms off the wall to duck my head and shield my face. "Dear God, no!"

Pit laughed.

I flashed a weary grin through the visor, despite knowing he couldn't see it. It made me feel better.

"Seriously though—" Pit's voice and face grew serious. "Are you okay?"

"_Oh-my-God_—you're such a Mary Sue!" I cried, wanting to punch him in the face for half a second but smiling all the same, as I spun around and began stalking down the hall. He was so NICE, when I was thinking in the back of my mind this entire time about knocking him over the head and splitting. It made me feel like a complete and utter jerk, and I was usually supposed to fill the 'nice one' of any group I was in! (And the most modest. Yes, most modest indeed.)

And when I turned around, he was most definitely going to have that kicked puppy look on his face—yeah, there it was. Mixed with some confusion as well, what was that about. Oh, right. He had probably no idea what a Mary-Sue was, as the term came from the Marvel Comic character Mary-Jane from Spiderman (who was an alleged 'perfect' character—there's a little trivia for ya'). As far as I knew, Nintendo did not own Marvel—or vice-versa—so Pit probably had no idea what I was talking about. Plus he was probably offended with all the god's-name-in-vain stuff I was doing—which I really needed to stop—being an angel and all—

"Kicked puppy," I explained, serious look on my face, turning back on my heel and making my way down the hall again. I made a gesture for him to follow, and I could just make out him exchanging a glance with Bruce as I turned the next corner.

"I don't understand…" I heard him say. "I don't understand _her_."

"Pika, apika-a-piiii…."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Bruce and I were the dynamic duo, if you will. I ducked, he leaped off my back. I punched, he rode my arm until my fist collided with the Primid's face and he jumped over him, leaping onto his head and shocked him. I kicked, he dove under my leg to the get the person behind me. We were… rather unstoppable. I slammed Samus's cannon down into the ground and he jumped atop, waiting until I swung around and fired to jump off and use the cannon as both leverage and cover. We had each other's backs, we didn't have to watch our own.

That is, until I fell.

A rock-hard laser hit me square in the gut, leveling me so fast I hardly even registered it when my face slammed into the ground with my arms clutching around my stomach. It wasn't Bruce's fault, or even mine—the laser had come out of nowhere and knocked me down before I could even blink. It hadn't broken through the metal of the armor, but it certainly had made me groan.

By the time I looked up, one arm pushing myself off the ground and the other still clutching the battered area—Bruce was about to be stomped to pieces under the boot of a Primid. If the boot could make Samus's armor crack, then it certainly could snap the neck of a little Pikachu with its tail caught under the other.

I didn't even have time to scream.

The boot came down.

…but not fast enough. The Primid made a garbled shrieked instead, boot spinning in mid-air as it fell back with an arrow through its throat. Bruce sat up and we both stared bemusedly at the purple dots floating up from the body, particularly at the arrow in its throat. Slowly, I turned my head as I sat up as well, staring at Pit—who was still frozen with one arm extending the bow, and the other drawn back from where it had released the arrow that had saved my little bro's life.

Slowly, Pit lowered his bow and drew his shoulders straight again.

I stood and just looked at him for a moment.

I almost went up hugged him.

But I didn't.

Instead, I said, voice rather gruff, "Thanks, Katniss." Before I turned and started down the hallway.

"_Who's Katniss?"_

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

We had found some sort of security room behind a glass pane of window. It didn't seem to have any doors, and we couldn't see well through tinted glass. If we could just get inside, was my reasoning, then we could find a map or something like last time and find the heart of this factory or something so we could blow it up and stuff.

Yay—blowing up stuff!

…except, when I became frustrated at the lack of a door, and nervous at the fact that we were just standing here in the middle of the hallway, I decided it might be a good idea to just blast our way through—now that we had the resources.

Um, except—when I blasted the glass—the entire room had been decked in a flashing red, and alarms had been blaring ever since. After vaulting inside amongst a cluster of muttered choice words and blame-games—

"Shootshootshootshootshoot," I muttered, tapping furiously into the computer's keyboard.

"Pika-pii," Bruce said smugly—the only one who had seemed not-for the whole blowing up the wall.

"You—" I said in a dangerous tone, and pointing the arm cannon at him without looking up, "—shut up."

It was frustrating typing with one hand, and my hands were already at the point of shaking from the nervousness of the sudden alarms, making this a rather slow going—if I already wasn't a speed typer.

"That is an impressive speed," Pit commented, absurdly calm. "I didn't think one could type that fast while wearing metal gloves and using only one hand."

"You shut up too!" I said furiously. "How the heck are you not freaking out right now?"

"We can take whatever they throw at us—" Pit said confidently.

I laughed humorlessly. "Yes. Okay. Um—how about _you_ take down all the R.O.B. they're going to throw at us."

Pit's smile fell. He didn't like the R.O.B.

"There!" I said, sighing in relief. Somehow I had managed to surf through the security files—how I had picked up that so fast, don't ask me—I had some help from the suit of course—and pulled up a map of the compound on the big screen. "Great," I said, voice rather jittery, stepping back and letting the suit take scans, copying the picture, zooming in and weaving through the 3D map that had just popped up in front of my vision on the visor. It only took about four seconds before a red box popped up, flashing, 'route found!' and I crowed.

"Found it!" I said, taking several steps backward and nearly tripping over the slippery remains of the glass. I vaulted through the widow, spinning back and forth on my heel, hands waving at the ready uncertainty. "The heart of the compound is… is…" The screen loaded. "…this way!" I finished, pointing to the left of the hallway. Already, through the blaring of the alarm, I could hear the '_whrrrrrrrrring'_ of the R.O.B. and pattering of the Primid footsteps.

We ran.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"OKAY—THAT ONE WAS TOTALLY ON YOU," I yelled, voice blaring through the electronic speakers of the suit as I sprinted down the long hallway.

"_What?" _I heard Pit say from somewhere behind me. _"How is this my fault? You're the one who broke the glass!"_

"YES, BUT YOU SAID IT WAS A GOOD IDEA!" I protested, pumping my arms wildly and trying to see straight through Bruce clutching on tightly to the helmet.

"_Noooooo_…" He laughed—how was he laughing? We were probably being chased by 70 billion Primid and stuff right now! Freaking Angels… _"Don't twist my words! I told you that if you were going to do it, you might as well get it over with!"_

"_Dangit_." I said, head falling down to my chest for a moment.

"Move to the side!" Pit said next, voice still suspiciously happy. "I'm going to beat you to the heart!"

"WHAT?" I shouted, shooting a glance over my shoulder at the pursing Pit. "AS IF—HOLY—!" I lunged to the side, hugging the wall. Had my hair been loose, the curls would've gone up in a _WHOOSH_ as Pit streamlined by with all fourteen feet of his winged glory out and moving in for the kill. I couldn't close my eyes though, totally in awe of the wings themselves, as he raced by me and banked down the corner at speed I could not hope to catch.

"-it," I said, eyes wide in awe, huge grin on my face. The light in my eyes quickly vanished, replaced by an outraged scowl. "YOU _CHEATER_!"

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I saw Pit about a hundred feet away and closing in fast. He had stopped outside the next door, looking frantically concerned. According to my digital map, this door led to the heart of the compound. As in, where they would be making and/or storing all the bombs. Which is what we were (unfortunately) aiming for. I wasn't sure if there really were Primid chasing us, (the R.O.B. had been strangely absent in this compound) but with all the lights flashing and alarms blaring and what appeared to be a locked door—it certainly felt like it, and I was using my adrenaline to its uttermost potential of blocking the aching pain and allowing me to sprint this long and hard.

"MOVE!" I shouted to Pit up ahead, reinforcing the idea with a wide gesture to the side. He complied, blinking rapidly, wings still slightly ruffled and extended behind him, and I raced past him—arm cannon extending, Bruce shrieking in my ears, before the door in front of me exploded with a loud-

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!_

Smoke was everywhere from the blast. I took a leap through the door, sticking the landing and sliding the last few feet to a halt, eyes alight behind the visor. As the smoke cleared, and Bruce crawled off my head and to the ground, I could finally see the room in front of me. It wasn't as big as I expected, but it certainly had at least FIFTY-BILLION BOMBS. Silver balls as tall as I was each on their own little pedestal that rolled for convenience, red-x's painted across their fronts. Even more importantly was the army of R.O.B. standing guard in front of them, and even more importantly than that was the mysterious cloaked figure of the Ancient Minister—who had been a key villain figure who dropped the bombs for the R.O.B. to detonate around the entire game.

So… that's where all the R.O.B. went.

I heard Pit come up behind me, and I gave a devilish grin. You know what? There were a lot of R.O.B. sure, but I was not about to be bested by a Mary-Sue, who was no doubt going to just snipe like R.O.B. left and right like Legolas. (Plus, I was on an insane adrenaline high, that might've had something to do with it, now that I think about it).

So I did cock my arm cannon and I did say—

"—Bring it."

* * *

**RAWR, I do say!**

**Hai guyz! It's Fleeeeeet again, ready to write an UNDERWORLD of a long review. You guys wrote me like eleven reviews last chapter and now this AN is going to be like 1000 words long OMGOD YOU GUYS ARE SO HORRIBLE BUT WHO AM I KIDDING I AM GOING TO LOVE EVERY SECOND OF THIS! *hugs* You guys rock. 3 So many reviews. It made my day...s.**

**And, here we go~!**

**-BACK IN TIME... TO TALK ABOUT THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER.**

**Whoa. Time travel. This is serious chiz, guys. Anyways-this chapter... was... *dies* Okaaaay. I really, really, reaaaaally did not like how Brittney and Bruce interacted/met Pit for the first time. I'm going to re-write that and repost it when I do the every-ten-chapters-book-clean-up. Which happens to be next chapter. Right. More on that later, but long story short-not much is going to be changed, trust me-just a few different ways of saying stuff. :3**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR PREVIOUS REVIEWSSSSSSSSS~~****  
**To _ThePersonOfAwesomeness_: I know. I know what you're saying. I'm sitting here, writing Brittney getting the complete and utter crap beaten out of her, and then I think in the back of my mind... 'eh, getting thrown into walls, probably getting internal bleeding somewhere, a concussion, and falling to your death again can't be THAT bad. Brawl Gods? You hearing me?' Heheh. I'll tell book-Bruce. He will get super excited, run around in circles, before attack hugging you wherever you are. I hope I didn't keep you waiting to long for this (previous chapter). :) Thanks for your review!  
To _WingedFish_: Ah, no sweat! ^^ You're awesome for reviewing this chapter, and that's all that matters in my world. :'333  
To _The Element Commander: _I reeeeeemember that review! I got all excited because I had just read your Rap Story and I was all like :LKGJSA". And then once I calmed down I wrote a reply in the next chapter! xD That's an interesting twist to the parallel story I never thought about, playing the game to affect the characters... hmmm... *strokes the plot bunny absently* Interesting ideaaaaa... One of the main components to the story is making sure that the parents DON'T find out though, so it'd have to be from main-character-A, Samus's, Pikachu's, and Main Character-B's POV... but it could still work... Thank you for your compliments, ideas, and review! ^^  
To Gamerguy555: Why thank you, dear unofficial-beta-reader. :3

**And... that be all... for that chapter. xD BACK TO THE PRESENT!**

**I liked doing this series of one-shots chapter. It was fun and not very tedious to right. It made using all my different ideas easy! This chapter was actually supposed to be a lot less fluff and a lot more Ancient-Minster Plot and Ganondorf and the DK's stuff-but the fluff took over and reigned with an iron fist, demanding that this chapter not be longer than 10,000 words like it was starting to be. O_O So... next time then?**

**Many of you seemed to like me introducing Pit as a secondary character! Though I consider him a main-character, as he'll be in nearly every single chapter from now on. (um, late SPOILER ALERT!)**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIWS**

To _Gamerguy555: _Why thank you. :3 Ice-cream to you too. *salutes*  
To _Draconis Kitten Sweetie_: My eyes literally bulged out of my head when I saw my inbox saying that I had seven reviews for MMB+B. I mean, usually get around four per chapter-so this was something I had never seen before. While it wasn't quite what I was expecting, it warmed my heart. :3 Thank you for all those reviews and compliments and comments! Made my day. :) I'm glad you liked it so much and were EXCITED-I hope you liked this chapter! ^^ Thanks!  
To _Loopy Panda: _Yes. Pit. ^^ I like him too. I don't really have a favorite brawl character, and it was mostly his similar age range to Brittney herself that made me put him in there-but now that I've been writing out a chapter layout and developing his character-I've fallen in love. :3333 He'll be in nearly every chapter to come, playing just as big a part as Brittney and Bruce. :) Haha, all that Yaoi was getting a little tiring. I can pretty much assure you that won't happen here, as I'm trying to keep an equal amount of main female/main male characters. *hinthint* Plus I had no hope/interest in trying to make one, much less a decent one. xD Kinetic Imagery FTW! It's my new favorite word. :) Thanks for your long review!  
To _ThePersonOfAwesomeness_: Haha. When I saw Bryce-I actually blanked there for a second, trying to think of this character named Bryce and when did I add him to story? xD Then I realized it was a typo and saw your fix-it review. :3 No sweat. Bruce has forgiven you. *nods solemnly* xD And returns your hug. Well, for you, and for you only-I shall have Brittney glomp Pit at one point. He'll probably almost die or something and Brittney'll freak-and upon seeing his return she shall glomp him. And you can just read that, sitting back in your chair, put on epic sunglasses and nod awesomely saying, 'I inspired that. Yes, I dids.' Thanks again for your review! ^^ Your now familiar penname is always great to see in my inbox. :)  
To L_egendOfZeldaFreak_: Your penname suggests you will be very happy in the distant future. :3 I'M SORRY. MY PLOT BUNNY DECIDED THAT CLIFF-HANGERS ARE A MUST FOR SUSPENSE. I tried to update as quick as possible though! I did pretty well, no? :3 Haha. Your review gives me hope that those visitors that have only read the first chapter will come back to become someone like you! Thank you for your review, and your compliments! I'm glad you like it so much!  
To _WingedFish_: :D Oh, if you think the game plot's off now... just wait until the last few chapters. xD The game plot has changed, good observation! :3 I'm planning on addressing the missing pieces of the game the most to try and not mess with the plot too much and still have a realistic outcome, (ie. Where was Wolf? Why was Sonic so Late? Why did Lucario attack Meta-Knight? How was Master-Hand captured, and where is his brother?) until it all just goes to underworld and life sucks. xD Thanks for your review, and your compliment!

**AGH. FINALLY DONE. AND I'M STILL SO HAAPPPY. There were so many reviews to respond to!-it was awesome! (I found it difficult to not write like an essay for each response ^^;)** **AND I STILL HAVE MUCH TO SAY. DANG ME FOR NOT WRITING A PROPER AN LAST TIME.**

**ON THE PARALLEL STORY:****  
****So, I've decided to publish the parallel story in a separate book of its own. I thought about doing the parallel story in this book-but I realized that the chapters would likely amount to over 10,000 words and I really did not want to lose the interest and fun in writing these chapters. I was actually just starting a basic chapter layout when I realized one horribly crucial issue. The summery and first chapter alone basically reveal the entire HUGE mystery of MMB+B-why Brittney and Bruce are there specifically, where Samus and Pikachu are, why they disappeared, etc. So I'm going to wait. I'm going to wait until the second-to-last chapter... I think... where all of this stuff becomes common knowledge to dear Brittney. I'm just going to give you guys a little basic, very basic, summery right now.**  
**-Samus, while with a dying Pikachu, in a moment of final desperation, called upon Brittney and Bruce for a reason undisclosed at this time. In an unforeseen consequence, Samus, Pikachu, Brittney and Bruce all swapped places and realities-landing them all in big trouble. While Brittney and Bruce fought for their lives in what they thought was a video games, Samus and Pikachu have to learn to take the places of those Samus called-which means surviving high-school, muggings, strange-looks, general-bad-assedness, moments of panic, identity crises, magic, and-most importantly-Brittney little sister Ashley (12) and a very hunky (*wink wink*) vet in training at the animal hospital that is raced to in the, you got it, very first chapter. Whoooo! Get excited. This is gonna be gooooooooood...**

**ON CHAPTER-CLEAN UP!**

**Every 10 chapters (so this is likely only going to happen twice or maybe thwrice if I decide to do a finale clean-up) I'm going to go through all the chapters and repost them with errors I have noticed/plot hole fixers/sentence restructuring. This means that IF YOU HAVE NOTICED ANY BLIIIIIIIINDING ERRORS- do tell. :) Or minor errors too-I'd like this to be as close to error-free as possible. :) Easy enough?**

**AND I AM DONE. I SWEAR. GOD-BLESS-AMERICA. THIS CONCLUDES THE INCREDIBLY LONG-NO-WAY-THIS-IS-SERIOUS-CHIZ AUTHOR NOTE. BLESS THE SOULS OF THOSE WHO BOTHERED TO READ THIS FAR. If you did, say AVENGERS in your review and I'll give you a supppppppppprise. :3 Farwell, and thanks for bearing with me!**

-Fleet.


	10. Skydiving Lessons

**Disclaimer: If I owned brawl, I would've made a SSB4 already.**

* * *

The Ancient Minster. He was, like I said before, an important (and mysterious) villain in the Subspace Emissary Plot. He (I assumed for the sake of assuming) was a cloaked figure, shaped like a super strange looking chess-piece, with only black and two white eyes blinking out from underneath his hood. Mr. Minster also rode some sort of hover-craft thingie around, using that to tow around these large subspace bombs. He would drop the bombs and two of his R.O.B. minions would appear to lock the bomb in place and start a countdown of approximately three minutes. When the three minutes were up?

BOOM. A large explosion would occur, swallowing up a large amount of land in a spherical shaped dark-purple explosion which appeared to stay even days after the explosion. As far as I knew—they were permanent. I knew of two different explosions—one at the very beginning of the game over the Brawl Stadium, and another one… somewhere… sometime that I can't remember. But there was another one!—I just can't remember it… Anyways, inside the giant purple glowing thingies, was (allegedly—I was going off brief moments of watching my friends play further stages of the game) Subspace. Which, apparently, was ruled by some glowing neon blue guy called Tabuu. I think.

Tabuu was main villain, even though I had never seen him in the parts of the game that I had played myself. I had watched my friend Safina boss-battle introduce him to me, and I laughed when I saw him. Why the laughter? Well, he looked rather serious and fancily threatening, until he pulled out these rainbow butterfly like wings—which, now that I think about it, are pretty scary—and used them to kill Safina's character in one swoop. Creepy.

Anyways, the point of that story was that Subspace was NOT good. It was purple and dark and apparently some sort of maze—I don't even know. But the Ancient Minster was the one releasing all these bombs, and therefore releasing SubSpace into this world. Which, if you haven't figured it out yet, was bad.

Very bad.

So when I was brought face to face with said Mr. Minister, I was expecting a huge boss battle. One, through my adrenaline-pumped brain, I cockily thought I could win. Of course, as the adrenaline died down as Bruce trotted up beside me and Pit walked up behind me, and the lingering ache of my wounds began to throb once again—I began to get… nervous.

Surely they couldn't defeat such an important figure so early on in the game? Was it even that early on in the game?—the rest of the world had been progressing as I did, so I really had no idea…

Still. It seemed… unlikely that a battle was going to break out.

Bruce gave a low hum of a 'chuuuuuuuuu…' rising up onto his haunches, fur bristling and standing on end. From the corner of my eye, I saw Pit calmly draw an arrow back. Oh. I looked down slightly, remembering how last warning had ended with me sticking out the suit's arm cannon in a threatening way and saying 'bring it.'

Okay. Never mind then. I had already pretty much screwed up any chance of there not being a huge battle. Might as well go out kicking and screaming then. I resumed my stance, the arm cannon whirrrrrring and cocking with a click. I was still pretty decently armed with missiles, I had about forty of the small and ten of the large left—and I had gotten a free charge from Bruce when he accidently hit me with a sort of mini lightning bolt earlier (long story, don't ask), so hopefully I could last through this boss battle before figuring out how to restock my supplies.

The Ancient Minster stared at me and I stared back. I could almost feel the eyes of the rows and rows upon rows of R.O.B. staring at us silently. It was unsettling, to say the least, and I was getting jittery in the suspense, shifting slightly onto my right foot uncomfortably. Our mini-staring contest continued for about three or four seconds, and those—may I add—were definitely three or four seconds in my top ten most awkward moments of my life.

But then, instead of ordering an attack, the Ancient Minister bowed his head and looked off to the side. If I didn't know that this was a video-game and that he was just a bunch of pixels, I would've thought he almost looked… sad. Dejected.

"Pika?" Bruce asked, in the way that meant he wasn't just asking yes, cocking his head slightly and withdrawing back up into a sitting position. Pit and I exchanged a glance, the avian shifting in what might've been a confused shrug.

If I had been playing the game, I would've seen the flashes going through Mr. Minister's head—flashes of what might've been guilt—flashes of the R.O.B. he left behind after he dropped those bombs—flashes of those R.O.B. I had never thought twice about and their fates. I didn't get to see these flashes, but simply looking at and the way his whole body seemed to droop, I got the general gist.

"So, what?" I asked slowly, in what could've been a whisper. "He's on our side now?"

Pit gave another one of his half-shrugs, but I could see that he was beginning to lower his bow.

I laughed behind my mask in a happy bewilderment. So maybe I _wasn't_ going to get into some huge boss battle today—

Quite suddenly, I started coughing with a violent enthusiasm.

"You okay?" Pit asked, shooting me a look of concern.

I straightened from my doubled over position. "Yeah," I said. "It was nothing. And random. Like I had just said something totally ironic. And stupid. And that was going to come back and whack me upside the head later in the chapter."

"What?"

"I dunno."

And that's when the Kongs showed up.

* * *

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Ten.  
**_  
__You might want to take sky diving lessons or something, 'cause you'll be falling to your death A LOT._

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

BOOM.

The whole room shook.

"Um…" I said, glancing up at the shaking walls.

BOOM. It came again.

Everyone in the room swayed at the force.

BOOM. BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM—

—I looked up, finally noticing the tiny cracks in the tall wall behind me and over my head—

—BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM.

The wall above my head exploded outward, pieces of wall and metal and shadowy silhouettes—large ones—flying towards where I was currently standing. Of_ course_ it was right above my head. Where else in this entire freaking room would the wall have to explode?

Yelping, I jumped backward—just in time too. A huge shape slammed into the metal ground, and I got a horrible mental image of a squashed pancake (non plasma-fried) version of myself where I had previously been standing. I vaguely registered (and the suit did too) three more shapes lightly plopping onto the ground as well, but I was too… dumbfounded by the largest shape to do anything but stare.

Donkey Kong roared.

Loudly.

Had I been any lesser willed at the moment, I might've needed a change of clothes.

_Holy-Mother-of-God-bless-America—_I thought. He was HUGE. Any reservations of the beast that I had had before on whether he should've been in Brawl (I had them all of the characters at one point or another) vanished. I unconsciously took another step back. Pleasepleasepleaseplease be good, I thought again frantically. Last time I had seen him, Donkey Kong had been taken prisoner by Bowser. I think. Hadn't he? Or at least trophified. Which meant he could be possessed. Which could mean I could be very likely screwed.

Again.

Fortunately, Donkey Kong lacked the glowing yellow eyes and the eerie purple glow that he needed to be possessed, and I quickly noticed Diddy Kong, Captain Falcon, and Olimar step out from beside him and into the light. Diddy Kong screeched at the Ancient Minster behind us, and I looked at the Captain and Olimar with a new interest. I hadn't seen them in the game before, so I was curious about how the Kongs and the two others had met up.

I shot a glance over a Pit, who looked pleased to see them. Good. I knew very little about Captain Falcon's fandom and even less about Olimar's—so for a second, when I was still nervous about Donkey Kong's allegiance—I wondered if they were evil. It was likely that they weren't, based on Pit's expression.

"Pit, Pikachu," The Captain said, giving each a head nod, before turning his hidden-behind-a-visor eyes to me. "Samus."

"Cap'," I replied evenly.

I saw his eyes flicker momentarily to the Ancient Minster. "What's up with him?"

I gave a noncommittal shrug and gave Pit a look—not willing to speak now more than necessary—turning around. I knew Captain Falcon _and_ Olimar's games were set in space/foreign worlds—which meant that was something Samus had in common with them. I knew Samus wasn't exactly a friendly person from trailers and video clips I had seen from her games—but still, they might know each other a little more than the others.

"We don't know," I head Pit say, voice uncertain, from behind me. "He hasn't attacked us. Doesn't seem to want to either—which doesn't make sense because he's the one who was in charge of the attack on the Stadium."

"I know," Captain Falcon replied. "I saw that. Maybe he knows he's outgunned."

"But he was like that before you got here."

"Pika-pi!"

"Maybe he's just waiting for us to trust him, and then activate all those bombs when we least expect it!"

I heard a chirp that could've only come from Olimar.

"He's just staring at us—that's _kinda_ creepy."

Donkey Kong gave another roar that clearly suggested, 'LET'S JUST ATTACK HIM ANYWAYS AND STOP SITTING AROUND HERE AND TALKING.'

I stared at the Minster. He stared back. He looked almost… sad.

"Maybe he's surrendering."

"That doesn't make sense. He's got all the R.O.B. under his command, and all those bombs. He could make it difficult on us."

I mentally kicked myself. He can't be sad. He's a video game character. A villain.

"Well, either way—in the end—let's take him prisoner. We could use him as a valuable bartering piece against the league."

"Unless he turned in his resignation form this morning."

Unless.

"No," I said without turning around, finally entering the conversation. "No—I think—I think he's had enough of sacrificing his army, of killing a lot of people in pointless (as far as I know) explosions. I think he's had enough of the evil side and their crap. I think he's trying to join _us_."

Silence.

I stared at the Ancient Minster. "Am I right?"

.

.

.

.

…I really hoped he could talk.

"What's wrong with your voice, Samus?" The Captain asked.

Dear God. This Samus thing was starting to annoy me.

"Rough week," I deadpanned, turning my head over my shoulder to glance at him. "Really, really, _really_ rough week."

Then there was a blip of a voice, and my head whipped back around, and I could see the Ancient Minster looking at me. For a second, I was so, so, so sure he was about to speak—to say yes—but then there was a large red flash, everyone in the room flinching, and all of a sudden—stuff.

Lots of stuff.

It took me a while to process all this stuff.

First off, the red flash apparently belonged to some sort of hologram-thingimabob. It was floating in the air slightly behind and far above the Ancient Minster's and his army's head from some sort of projector that I couldn't see. Second off, it was a hologram of a really creepy looking dude that I had to frantically search a name for inside my head. Ganondorf, my brain eventually supplied (it was a little sluggish today). Okay, now I really was positive that Ganondorf was an evil dude—and even more positive he was from the Legend of Zelda game franchise. Which sucked, because I knew next to nothing about the Zelda games too. In fact, I knew practically nothing about any character's games—I only played them in brawl. Well, wait—I did know a bit about each game from Wikis when I got curious—oh, and I still admit it's a secret pleasure of mine to play those pokémon games every once and a while. (What? Pokémon's for losers and kids under 12? Psh?—What? But… but I like sending out furry (or sometimes not) creatures who my game self considers friends till they win or are rendered unconscious!) Anyways, thirdly—the Ancient Minster whirled around to face him looking mildly… alarmed.

Ganon's voice boomed out over the metal room, "Heroes…" he sneered, recovering from the mild surprise I had seen cross his face when he first noticed us. Then his eyes turned to me and something that could've been… extreme dislike crossed his face. "Samus."

Well, crap. Apparently the villain didn't like Samus, and didn't consider her a hero. That's just fantastic, because we all know that I need even a villain with a personal vendetta against me to add to my list of issues. This only made my frustration at living in Samus's legacy escalate—making me grit my teeth in irritation. I didn't ask for any of this, I didn't want to be her—but saying I wasn't was only going to rope me into this even more. It was a trap. If I said I wasn't Samus, people would freak and be all like—where the heck is she then and why are you wearing her clothes?—probably arresting me or something like that. If I played along, well, you saw where playing along was getting me.

"Asdalhfa;f," I muttered, scuffing my foot on the floor.

Pit gave me a strange look.

I rolled my eyes at him good naturedly and jerked my head at Ganon.

"Ancient Minster," The hologram was saying, ignoring said heroes and Samus and addressing the R.O.B. now. "R.O.B. We are initiating Plan Cannon early. Things have been going well on our end." Ganondorf's eyes flickered back to us again, before a glint I didn't like crossed his eyes again and he turned back to the Ancient Minster. "I was calling you to ask you to begin the bombings in the desert—but now I see a better opportunity has arrived. We no longer require more bombs, or this facility, so I think it would be a logical and tactical decision to just preform Plan Cannon here. Understood?"

The Ancient Minster stared up at Ganondorf silently. He seemed… dumbfounded.

"Understood?" Ganondorf pressed, suddenly adapting a dangerous tone to his voice.

The R.O.B., who had been watching this exchange silently, looked back and forth between each other and their supposed leader, before they began to surge forward towards the bombs.

Wait, what?

I tensed, shooting a quick glance at Pit. He looked at me too, muscles locked, and another quick glance at the smashers behind us revealed that nearly everyone was about to surge forward and either run away or stop them—when—

The Ancient Minster suddenly surged forward through the crowd of R.O.B, the most movement I had seen from him up to that point. He was jostling R.O.B. out of the way until he reached the front, spinning around and standing in between them and the bombs. The R.O.B. stopped, seemingly confused by this gesture (well, join the club) glancing at one another. It was clear that the Ancient Minster did not want them to blow themselves up (which, I can agree with), but at the same time—Ganondorf seemed to be in charge of the Minster, which made his word more final than the Minsters. But the Minster was their superior officer. So, being machines, I could tell where their confusion was coming from. Do they follow their leader? Or the one with more power than their leader?

Oh, god, this was like some sort of complicated war movie.

Even from here, I could see Ganondorf's projection roll his eyes with a shake of his head. His arm flickered out of view for a moment, before reappearing with some sort of vial in his hand—with a button. A button that was probably going to mess this up even more. A button he pressed.

And the R.O.B.'s eyes glowed red.

Glowing red eyes? Lemme add you to the things-I-really-don't-like list.

Stoic now, the R.O.B. surged past their leader and to the rows of bombs. The large racks that held them released simultaneously, allowing a large bomb on each of the rows to crash to the ground. A pair of R.O.B surged forward to the first one, before the Ancient Minster rushed at the glowing R.O.B. and knocked them over with a powerful charge before they could lock into the bomb properly.

Ganondorf shook his head and reached for the button.

The remaining R.O.B. began to jerk unnaturally, their red-eyes flickering. They seemed to convulse inwardly for a few seconds, before one by one the ones closest to the Minster turned on him and allowed their lasers to fly.

The Minster jerked under their sudden force. He seemed ready to run, but the lasers kept forcing him back into the racks, keeping him away and dealing damage all at the same time. I felt my stomach twist in pity and I saw Pit take a step forward out of the corner of my eye before stopping. The Minster's cloak caught fire soon enough, quickly spreading until he was completely aflame, a burning mass of red amongst the steel R.O.B. that had turned on him. The R.O.B. that he had been trying to protect.

I saw him lower his head in the flames.

The remaining R.O.B. slammed forcibly into the bombs as they fell off the racks, as if they were being pushed into the locks by some unseen force. I heard Ganondorf laugh cruelly, and I shot him a glare through the visor. Instead of flipping him off (which I certainly felt like doing), I exchanged a glance with my bro (who had been watching all of this was a painfully confused expression on his mouse-like face) before we both leapt forward in attack.

Or.

Um.

Attempt to attack.

I couldn't find the heart to actually blast the R.O.B. as the clock slowly ticked down, as it was obvious they weren't trying to do this themselves, but I did try my best to physically pull them off of the bombs. I latched a plasma whip around one's neck and pulled, my feet slipping on the smooth surface of the metal multiple times before the suit kicked in and got me locked in place. I couldn't quite see what Bruce was doing, but by the way the lights flickered about thirty seconds into the two minutes countdown, I knew it wasn't something as nice as I was attempting.

The other smashers quickly leapt to our help. Donkey Kong behind me was quickly growing frustrated on his attempt to remove a sturdy R.O.B. from the bomb, and I released my grip on the plasma whip. If he couldn't do it—there was no way I could, even with the help of this epic suit. Breathing heavily, I backed up, readying the blaster on my arm and preparing to blast the R.O.B's head in front of me to smithereens, when—

Ganondorf disappeared with a wide gesture and a flicker of light. Whatever that gesture meant, it wasn't something nice—within seconds there was a loud flapping sound and hundreds of bird-like machines began to swarm through the vents and into the room. I recognized them, and the suit provided a name, Auroros. I had fought them in the game before, but never since my arrival here, which interested me. Of course, that interest was soon dulled by panic when I remembered what, exactly, the Auroroses favorite tactics were.

Dive bombing.

_"BR—PIKACHU, now would be a good time for a thunderbolt!"_ I yelled, head turning from side to side and looking for the guy. I swore multiple times in my head, whirling around and firing my preparing blast at a closer one of the Auroros, which promptly caused it to burst into flames and fall. A little overdramatic, but it worked.

Bruce leaped over one of the bombs and onto my face. I flailed momentarily, before yanking him off with my non-cannonified arm, dropping him unceremoniously onto the ground. Regaining my balance and resuming my rapid fire shots at the birds, I gave him a swift glance that pretty much summed up as, 'I-don't-care-if-you've-never-done-this-before-in-your-life-you-better-use-a-freaking-thunderbolt-right-now-before-we-all-DIE!'

Bruce twitched his nose at me.

"ANYTIME NOW!" I shouted, still taking down the Auroroses.

"Pika-piiiiiiiiii."

Crap. We were screwed. I saw several light arrows emerging from beyond the sea of bombs taking down several Auroroses quickly too, but Pit and I couldn't do it alone. I knew Captain Falcon, Olimar, and Donkey Kong had little to no use for ranged attacks, and I could just make out the popping sound from a peanut gun starting up—but we had… 2:24 seconds now before this whole place blew up. I had 28 small missiles left, and nine big ones. Not enough. Unless some God-given miracle came now, we weren't going to get these guys done with fast enough with enough time to deal with the R.O.B. or escape.

I wondered detachedly where I had gone wrong in the game.

I almost missed what happened next. I saw a shifting of fire out of the corner of my eye and turned distantly with a half-glance, about to turn back to the bird and redouble my efforts, when I registered what I had saw and did a very nice double-take.

The Ancient Minster was still alive. And he was trembling. The trembling thing might've been explainable, him being on fire and all, but the shaking turned to violent shakings until all of a sudden two twin blue beams shot out of his eyes and took down, oh, I dunno, a _dozen_ of the bird things! Then the shaking turned to a burst and his flaming robes were shed to reveal…

…a R.O.B.

A _R.O.B._

It was quite suddenly that I remembered that a R.O.B. had been a smasher, and that during one of Pit's endless conversations with himself (when I was still trying to be the whole stoic warrior thing) how he had mentioned the floating island's leader, and how all the smashers had come here at one point or another to the floating island before the initiation of Brawl during a large battle due to the floating island's strategical importance. I had only half listened to it all, Pit's story had been one on something he and a kid named Charlie did (who Charlie was, I had no clue) so the clues scattered around about Brawl's formation and this battle he was talking about were scattered and far and few between. But all of a sudden, all those little tidbits of information clicked together into some sort of large theory that I was so certain was true in my mind.

This was the R.O.B. from Brawl.

_The_ R.O.B.

The R.O.B. who was also leader of the other R.O.B, and the R.O.B. who was somehow swayed by Ganondorf and Bowser and whoever the heck else was part of this web of villains because he was a machine—and being a machine allowed him to see past the morals and into the practicality of Ganondorf's proposition. Him being the leader of the island allowed him control over all the other R.O.B's whom he offered up in service.

But why was he cloaked? Why would he wear a mask?

Why does anyone?

Because he didn't want to be known. He saw what he was doing very quickly, he saw his own people being sacrificed for the evil's gain, and that was morally, shamefully, wrong. The R.O.B. made an island that was a safe haven all year around for hundreds of foreign species. Why would a machine do that if they weren't completely in touch with the world around them? Interested, perhaps even compassionate towards the wildlife? Intelligent? Not just machines following orders but intelligent. Intelligent to know that they had been had, and that they were being sacrificed. That called for a cloak, to hide his face.

Until the time, the opportunity, when he had the opportunity to escape with all his people. Until he had the opportunity to join _us_.

I stared at R.O.B. and felt very, very insightful. I also felt my mind being completely _blown_.

"Holy crap," I said plainly. "He's one of us."

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

_Not us_, I corrected myself quickly. _Them. But the same concept completely applies._

I was still shooting the birds as I stared. Quickly I stopped, with nineteen of the small missiles left and only six of the large. I realized I might need them later and took myself out of the fight, watching as the remaining two dozen or so of the Auroroses were vaporized within seconds and generally just being dumbfounded. It was incredibly enlightening to me, to have generally figured that out. Even if I was wrong, which I'm can say for the first time I was pretty confident that I wasn't, I had just revealed one of the mysteries that I was grappling with—who the Ancient Minster was. Knowing this, and guessing at his reasoning, was extremely comforting.

For about five seconds.

Right. Countdown. 2:12. Imminent death/explosions. Destroy remaining R.O.B.

I turned back to the R.O.B. that was attached to the bomb in front of me and used one of my remaining six large missiles to blast of his head. I did the same to his partner.

The countdown still continued.

I stepped back worriedly, looking around the room I saw similar results coming from others. I couldn't see Pit anywhere beyond the sea of bombs, Bruce was watching me on his hind legs, I couldn't see Olimar and Donkey Kong was still furiously banging on the one R.O.B. with limited success.

This wasn't working.

My eyes fell on R.O.B. His eyes were flashing blue and he was facing a pair of R.O.B. attached to a bomb near me. The pair of R.O.B. on the bomb turned their heads, their own eyes flashing blue as well, and for a second the silent conversation seemed very… intimate and I almost felt like I was intruding for watching it. Then R.O.B's head fell to his metal chest and his outstretched arms drooped. I guessed the conversation hadn't gone very well.

1:59.

"Samus!"

I turned at the sound of the Captain's voice. He waved a hand at me, a gesture for me to follow, and he quickly tapped something into a machine on his wrist before running off towards a large shaft I hadn't seen.

I lightly kicked Bruce with my foot, startling him off his legs and into a running position. "Go," I said, and he gave me a small shock before racing after the Cap.

"Pit!" I yelled, throwing my head over my shoulder.

I saw his head peek over the top of a bomb.

"C'mon!"

Pit looked once at the retreating figures of Captain Falcon, Bruce, and now Diddy Kong, before looking behind him and shouting, "Olimar!"

They quickly ran past me, Pit, Olimar, and at least a half a dozen Pikmin. I started after them once I waved them through, giving one more hesitating glance over my shoulder to the surely to die R.O.B. I stuttered to a halt, giving them one last long look.

"Samus!" Pit warned.

"Yeah, yeah," I replied slowly, forcing my head away and jogging after them. "I'm coming."

We left the R.O.B. behind. I told myself not to feel sad, guilty—because in the end, they were just a bunch of pixels, machines, and there was nothing more I could've done.

But if I couldn't save them, then—

I stopped jogging as R.O.B. caught my eye. He was still standing in a mourning position before the same bomb, the same pair of R.O.B., without any sign or intention of moving. I gave him a long look.

"Hey, D.K.," I said, still looking at R.O.B.

I heard Donkey Kong stop. He had been right in front of me, and he turned giving me an annoyed huff (we were kinda fleeing for our lives). I turned my distracted gaze towards him before giving a head jerk in R.O.B's direction. "You think you could…?"

Donkey Kong eyes didn't soften, but they certainly didn't harden. He lumbered past me and grabbed R.O.B. around the midsection with one large fist before racing back towards me and the large shaft. Bruce was waiting by the entrance, looking worriedly at me as Donkey Kong raced past him with R.O.B. and jumped unhesitatingly into the abyss beyond.

"What?" I asked him, giving him a strange glance and peering into the tunnel. "I thought I told you to go—crap."

The abyss actually was an abyss.

One hand on the edge of the doorframe, I stared glaringly down into the tunnel with no seemingly bottom and at the quickly disappearing form of DK's back. Great. I shot a glance at Bruce, who looking woozy. "What?" I asked him, knowing we had no other choice. "You scared of a little freefall? Bud, I'm a freefall expert."

That was when I had thrusters on the bottom of my shoes.

I sighed. Bruce backed nervously away from the edge with his fur bristling. I quickly nabbed him before he could sprint away back into the room and winced as I threw his squirming body over the edge. I heard him shriek and closed my eyes.

"How is this my life?"

And then I was falling.

Again.

******IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I grit my teeth as I fell, my stomach quickly lurching up to my throat. I was determined not to scream this time, as this was my third time this week that was falling to my death, and actually succeeded in a relatively silent freefall as I dove headfirst towards the ground.

Surprisingly, I wasn't too far behind everyone else. Bruce was failing around in the shaft and I momentarily regretted my decision to throw him (he was going to hate me for a while) and in my guilt I had enough of a level-head to release the plasma whip and hook him around his mid-section and draw him back towards me. _Maybe if we actually were doing a suicide jump_, I thought as I hugged him close to my chest and winced as he screeched in my ear, _my armored body would shield him from impact._

See? I was a great older sister.

Luckily, it seemed like the Cap did have a plan. I saw the rest of the smashers fall into what looked like some sort of ship through an open top. They didn't seem to break every freaking bone in their body on impact, I even saw Pit turn up his head and move out of the way during the last second of my freefall.

Two seconds before we hit, I swung my legs around so they would hit first.

Luckily I didn't have to worry too much. The second my feet passed through the open sunroof of the ship, I felt the world slow down. It was like literally moving in slow motion, falling at the rate of maybe a few inches per second. But as I (incredibly slowly) turned my head to the side, I saw Pit watching me with an amused expression on his face and wave at normal speed. Fortunately, I didn't have to wait until my feet hit the ground before whatever it was that was slowing me down to disengage and I lightly landed on the ground at the speed I would've if I had jumped from the ship's carpeted floor.

Slightly wobbly from the fall (I'll never get used to that), I straightened out and let Bruce squirm out of my arms. I heard my elctronized voice say, "See that wasn't too bad!" and I somewhat staggered over to a more open area of the ship.

It was… nice inside. Like a limo. Except even Donkey Kong could stand straight. The sunroof (or what I called a sunroof) closed over my head, and moved (still jitter) over closer to the cockpit where Cap was punching in something to the large complex control panel of the ship. His ship.

"Could've told me what you were planning before I jumped," I muttered warily leaning against the metal and glass wall next to the wide archway where he was. (Bruce had left me in an irritated fashion for Pit's lap on one of the leather seats).

"Now where's the fun in that?" He joked, punching in some final numbers before shooting me an amused glance. "The Great Samus Aran's not scared of heights now, is she?"

I rolled my eyes, too adrenaline pumped to get irritated at the Samus comment.

"You guys might want to sit down back there!" The Cap shouted over his shoulder briefly, before continuing with a mutter, "or hold onto something at least."

I had the momentary sense to latch onto the archway's corner as the Cap settled into a seat. (Diddy Kong was sitting in the copilot's with an incredibly amused expression on his face as he slammed random buttons ("Don't touch that," the cap groaned, smacking one of the ape's hands away from a large red button)).

Then we were flying. I was nearly flying too, my feet sliding on the carpet before latching a firm grip. For a second, I felt complete and utter relief. We were flying incredibly fast, we probably had a good fifty seconds left to escape out of what seemed to be a transport tunnel, had defeated and recruited the Ancient Minster, and had escaped without a serious life-threatening battle.

Downside being that I was surrounded by a lot more smashers who were probably a heck of lot more suspicious than an angel—but I didn't worry about that now. I could see our freedom—how grand was that?

Meta-Ridley: _Trolololololol…ssssss._

* * *

**HELLOOOOOOOOOOO! Contrary to the popular belief, I had not disappeared off the face of the earth. ...sorry about that. I went on a mission's trip and before I left I didn't have time to post a new chapter!-and then when I got back I got sick, plus this chapter was incredibly hard to get started and gaaaaaaah. I apologize. I'll be posting much, much more quickly up and coming (because these next few chapters are going to be AWESOME.)**

**So we meet Olimar, Captain Falcon, and the Kongs in our extra long special 10th chapter! ...yay! *coughnotforlongcough* Sorry if they're a bit out of character. As you can probably tell, I'm not big on the whole Kirby and Pikachu can speak human (and others, but I digress)-but I wasn't sure whether Olimar and the Kongs COULD speak. I guessed not, since they're different, but I really don't know! Oh, and R.O.B!-which I'm excited about because I (surprisingly) have plans for his character. Which, when I started this story, I had no idea what I would do with him.**

**AHEM! I did do a chapter cleanup-but FF added a handy new feature which allows you to edit previously posted chapters! *hugs FF* YAY! It's clean now! NOW FOR THE FUN PART!**

**To Draconis Kitten Sweetie, LegendOfZeldaFreak, and ThePersonofAwesomeness: AVENGERS! YAY! You guys win a prize! But since I can't give you money, or cookies, or even hugs-your prize is the only thing I can actually send across this site. WORDS. Yes. Give me a prompt! Any prompt! (K-T, of course. :3) Brawl, or any category at all! As long as I know the fandom, otherwise it might be a very short response. Any genre or length request, as long as it's not a novel. -_- I need to get these chapters done people. But hit me! :D I shall try my best to thank you for your awesomeness.**

**AND NOW, IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS!**

To _tweetweetweet_: Thanks! xD New Reviewers always make me smile.  
To _Draconis Kitten Sweetie_: Spam makes my day. :D Agh, I know! I was always like, 'What's a Mary Sue?' O_O Until finally one of my friends explained it to me. EYES OPENED. Well, it wasn't so much of an epic battle. That be next time. :D  
To _WingedFish: _Olimar, yes! :D I was kinda sad I didn't get to write more of him and the rest of the new characters. I didn't want to mess Olimar up, because honestly I didn't even know if he could SPEAK. I did some research and he didn't seem to speak in the games, so I wondered if he spoke a foreign language and lots of confusion. xD Def. more in the next chapter. And aaaaagah! That'd be... I don't even know. I haven't quite decided how to react to that suggestion. :3 It's cute. There I decided. D'awwww. Thanks for your review, glad you liked it!  
To _LegendOfZeldaFreak: _:D YES. These chapters are getting progressively longer. I don't know if my brain can take it. Well, Brittney will be calling Pit a bunch of different things, such as Legolas as read above. Perhaps Hawkeye next... xD Hehe. It's a ways of, well, actually... I dunno. A ways a way. Maybe. :3 Glad you liked it! Thanks for the review!  
To _ThePersonofAwesomeness: _YES. IT WAS AN EPIC MOVIE, WAS IT NOT? Hehe. Glad to know you like Kirby. Now Brittney must glomp Kirby for you. And perhaps Meta-Knight as well, though it may be a more of a 'OKAY, I'M GOING TO SAVE YOUR LIFE NOW' strangle-hug. *hinthint* I'm sad Toon Link didn't have a big role in SubSpace Emissary. Maybe a plot point I will explore? :3 Thank you for your review! Hope you liked this one. :)  
To _GamerGuy555_: Love to you as always! ^^ (Sorry, I went ahead and posted this chapter without waiting too long for your edit-it was almost a month since the last one and I wanted to get it up ASAP).

**AND THAT BE ALL! Bless your face! If you sneezed during this AN-bless you. PEACE OUT! (bonus points for reference catch)**

**-Fleet**


	11. For a Rainy Day

I sat awkwardly next to Olimar, hands folded in my lap, shifting uncomfortably in the (in comparison) giant power suit. We were looking pretty much anywhere but each other, myself nearly at the point of drumming my fingers and crossing my legs. Finally, I couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Hey."

Olimar stared up at me—all the Pikmin that had been dancing around mimicking him. It was incredibly unnerving.

"Um—" I stared, incredibly uncomfortable, before repeating, "—hey."

He stared at me.

Right. I looked away.

Then there was a flurry of beeping and noises I definitely couldn't understand, making me whip my head back around and give Olimar a double-take.

"Um. What?"

"He said '_hello'_," Pit supplied unhelpfully, stepping over to us.

I gave him a skeptical look under the visor. "And you know this how?"

"Angels speak all-tongue," he answered, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "Anyone can understand us, and we can understand anyone."

_"What."_ I deadpanned. All those years of struggling with Spanish Class—

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM_.

The ship suddenly sank dangerously before leveling out. Everyone jumped, myself included to my feet—and several Pimkins died of what appeared to be… fright.

I almost laughed. Instead I panicked.

"What was that?" I yelled over my shoulder at the Cap, and—I admit—there was a slightly panicked tone to my voice.

"I… I honestly don't know," He replied looking nervous and punching some buttons on the flat console in front of him.

_BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM._

Everyone looked up now; as it was quite obvious whatever was making that sound was coming from something—or someone—pounding ontop of the ship.

I pulled a Pikmin off my lap and raced to the front of the ship, grabbing Diddy Kong by his shirt (ignoring his protesting screech) and yanking him up and out of the co-pilot seat before sinking down into it. "Please tell me that it's the cavern collapsing and little pieces of dirt are hitting the ship—something you can easily avoid or shoot down because we're almost out of here," I said hopefully. Because while I have zero directional skills, I can shoot things. Or at least, that's what I tell my mom when she wants me to copilot navigate during a lengthy car-trip.

The Cap shook his head. "I don't know—" he muttered, looking honest to god confused. "It can't be the cavern collapsing, because the scanners would've picked up the structural collapse alre—"

Silence.

I reached forward and braced myself on the monitor in front of me, shooting the Cap little glances sideways, waiting for a reply. "What?"

"Samus…" He said slowly, eyes widening.

"What?" I asked, sharp tone to my voice now. He was making me waaaaaay too nervous for my own good now. "Look—if you're not going to tell me, at least open that skylight thing you have going on so I can see for myself—"

BOOOOOOOOOOOOO—creeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaa aak! There was a scream of metal and the roar of a huge force of winds. I whirled around in my seat, watching in a sort of shocked horror as the top of the ship was pretty much ripped off. Yeah. Like, gone. Gaping hole where the sunroof used to be—loose objects, including the rest of Olimar's truly unfortunate Pimkin, went flying through the hole. In the corner of my eye, I saw Cap swear and furiously punch the console, but I was kinda busy being terrified out of my mind.

Then Ridley stuck his head in through the hole.

Oh.

Then Ridley roared and snatched Diddy Kong up with his gigantic mouth and tossed him out of the plane like hay on a pitchfork.

Crap.

Then he roared again, metallic voice screeching and sounding like nails on chalk-board and did say, "GIVE. ME. SAMUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS."

And then I thought something worse than crap.

* * *

**************IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Eleven.  
**_  
Always remember to save your missiles for when you _actually_ need them._

**********IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

* * *

Ridley pulled his head out of the ship and roared—stomping on the ship's top and generally making flying this thing probably a hundred times more difficult than it already was.

Then every (remaining) eye in the ship turned to me.

I was still rather horrified about the whole holy-crap-he's-come-back-to-life thing and holy-crap-did-Diddy-Kong-just-get-thrown-off-a-plane?! Surely that's not good for the plot. Of course, quickly I noticed everyone staring at me and blanched inside the suit, biting back muttered curses and I don't even know—

"Right." I stood up, trying not to look as shaky as I felt. I jerked a hand over the helmet, securing it once, making for the gaping hole. "I'll take care of that right away." Of course, I did this all while half-shouting over the roar of the wind and bracing myself against the walls as I made my way towards the hole.

Pit, bless his Mary-freaking-Sue heart, shouted over the roar of the wind, staggering against the wall and bracing himself with one arm. "Where are you going?"

"Where do you _think_ I'm going?" I shouted back, even _my_ electronicized voice almost lost in the wind, readying the cannon on my arm and adjusting it with my free hand. I moved towards the gaping hole in the shuttle-craft, bracing one arm on the sides and prepared to pull myself up. Or try to. I didn't exactly have the best arm strength in the world here, people—and the ship was swaying rather dangerously. We'd just have to see how it went.

"I'll come with you!" He shouted back, looking rather determined for someone so windblown as he pushed himself off the wall.

"No!" I yelled, dismissing his offer with a sharp wave of the arm cannon. I shot a sharp look at Bruce too, who was staring at me wide-eyed—silently commuting the same message. "This is my fight!" Because Ridley beat the crap out of me four chapters ago and it was time to deal with the nice sweet topic of revenge while the playing field was leveled. Or… less dramatically tipped against me than before.

So, in my head, at the time—it seemed like a good time to try and start this whole hero thing.

…I was an idiot.

**********IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Pulling myself up was actually pretty easy. Gripping the sides of metal hole, I swung my legs and got some good momentum to pull myself up onto the edge of the top of the ship. Dragging myself forward with my chest still on the top of the ship, I peered around, glad for once for this helmet and how it protected my eyes from whatever was flying through this tunnel as well.

Slowly, I drew myself up onto my knees, one hand on the ground and the other extended for balance. I swayed slightly, but I quickly learned that I could lean slightly into the wind, as this tunnel was mostly long and straight and without many turns and stand without issue. The wind was very strong, we were maybe moving at least two-hundred miles per hour, but with the slight leaning into the wind and the suit's boots quickly activating a sort of traction ontop of the ship's smooth surface, I could stand—and take a few tentative steps—with ease.

Ridley was nowhere in sight.

But I was not going to fall for that one again.

I whirled around, arm cannon _whrrrrring_!—just in time to see Ridley's huge figure dive-bombing me with wings outstretched and glinting steel claws extended. Instantly, an array of three small missiles flew out of the arm-cannon at my will and buried themselves along the jutting chest of the space-pirate. They detonated a half a second later and I ducked, protecting my head as Ridley swerved wildly over my head with a loud screech.

I spun around, watching critically as he spun out of control for a moment, hovering and slowly becoming a small figure in the distance as we pressed forward in this never-ending shaft—watching the dragon shake his head before powering forward with several strokes of his wings. It took him a while to catch up though, bought us a bit of time, and I was well prepared when he neared, arm cannon at the ready.

I was not prepared for the space-pirate to dive-bomb the end of the ship, sending the back half lurching downwards dangerously and sending me flying into the air. I flailed, ship quickly passing me by, yelling and generally not liking the whole prospect of being left behind in the shaft. Gritting my teeth and arms practically shaking from adrenaline and nervousness, I twisted in mid-air (more out of gravity itself rather then intent) and fired the plasma whip, stomach clenching with relief as it barely grabbed the edge of the ship as it passed by. The jerk of the ship and the plasma-whip reaching its limit quickly grounded me again, and I gave a glowering glare to Ridley—who had clawed his way up onto the back of the ship.

"_Sssssssssssaaaaaamus_," He greeted pleasantly, baring his metallic teeth in what might've been a twisted grin. _"Long time no ssssssssssssee."_

I locked the whip, letting it stay attached to the ship's sleek top—pretty intent on not flying into the air again. "If by long time you mean two-days ago," I shouted back irritably over the roar of the wind, "then, yes—nice not to see you too!"

Ridley laughed, a horrible screeching sound that sounded even worse than his roar. _"How you been? You ssssssssssmell different. Sssssssssound different."_

_"And you look like crap!" _I returned the compliment, brandishing the arm-cannon. "How you been?"

It was true. Ridley looked strangely different from the last time I had seen him, even if that time I could barely remember without the urge to go curl up in a ball and die. He looked… like he'd be put together by a bunch of malfunctioning R.O.B.—his entire body metallic, his eyes and chest glowed like lanterns, and his voice sounded as robotic as mine.

"You like it? I got my insssssssspiration from you," Ridley laughed again.

It made me want to shoot him.

So I did.

_"I don't do battle banter,"_ I shouted, over his pained roar as one of the dwindling large missiles sunk into his chest and promptly exploded.

"Can't two old _friendsssssssss_ jussssssst talk?" Ridley hissed, lashing his tail.

"Is that what we're doing?" I asked, irritably. _"Because it felt like you were trying to freaking kill me!_ So are we going to do this or not?_"_

Ridley hissed again, claws scraping at the metal with his long claws. I knew I should be stalling more, really, but I honestly just wanted to get this over with before the adrenaline died down and I got terrified out of my mind again. I could see the tunnel getting gradually lighter, flickering shadows and lights causing a strobing effect across the ceiling. It was good, we were almost out. And as soon as we got out—we needed to land. ASAP. I'm pretty sure having a gigantic hole in the top of the ship isn't good for general mechanics.

But we couldn't land if Ridley was following us the entire way.

"Are we going to do this or not?!" I shouted again.

Ridley hissed, ducking his head.

And for a second—no one moved.

Then Ridley snapped out his wings, rearing up with a roar. All I could see for a second was this huge shadow, silhouette outlined by light, and I took one step back eyes wide. Then he twisted and dove for me, teeth and jaw gnashing and lunging for me, and I lunged to the side, wincing as his head brushed by my torso. Leaping back, I fired once into his head, stumbling at the horrible screech he made. His large head smashed into my side and I went _flying, s_kidding and rolling and scrambling for a hold on the slick surface of the Falcon Flyer. Luckily, the plasma whip—still attached to the top of the ship—caught me and I rolled to a stop, groaning.

Quickly I rolled to my feet, leaning back and snapping the whip back towards me, brandishing it with a sharp flick and sliding one foot back for a solid stance.

Ridley whipped back around, stalking towards me with a purpose. "Poor Ssssssssamussssssss!" He snapped, eyes glinting cruelly. "All alone! Where are your teammates—why aren't they helping you fight me? You too _prooooud_?" His eyes darkened. "Or did they find out what you _did_?"

For one horrifying second, I thought Ridley had discovered my secret. Then I realized he had called me Samus this entire time and he was likely talking about something _she_ did. I was distracted momentarily by the thought—but quickly brushed it off and shouted a short and sweet, "SHUT UP!" and swung the whip as he charged.

Everything slowed down. I know it's a cliché, but it—for me—had never been more true. My heart was pumping wildly in my ears, Ridley's arm and glinting claws alike were scraping the air just inches in front of the faceplate, and I was leaning back, bending sideways and ducking under his arm as everything slowly, slowly started speeding up again until it was all moving too fast and the whip was glowing white and latching around Ridley's arm and I was falling back under his tramping feet and lashing tail and everything was just crazy.

Yeah. The author writes long run-ons when the character is panicked.

I pulled hard on the whip, suddenly behind Ridley, and all of a sudden the huge dragon had flipped over onto his back—screeching and legs failing and plasma whip leaving ugly burn marks along his robotic skin. I yanked the whip back towards me and the world sped up again to normal speed with a rushing roll of sound.

_"YOU CAN'T BLAME ME FOR THINGS I DIDN'T DO!"_ I yelled, on the point of furious, leaning forward to make my point and brandishing the arm cannon downwards.

"Now that'ssssssss _very_ interesting," Ridley hissed, stalking back towards me. His arm swung at me and I ducked, firing a small missile up into the crevice of his arm. He barely blinked. "You're sssssssstill sssssso caught up in your own ssssssselfrighteousness aren't you?" His other arm caught me in the side, sending me sprawling. "Let's face it Ssssssssamus—your hands are just as blood red as mine!"

I didn't even know what Samus did. I really didn't care either, right then, as Ridley's tail came slamming towards my face. But her mistakes, whatever the heck she did, were hurting me right now. Her legacy, as some sort of dark hero, hidden agendas, secrets, mess ups, enemies—all her getting pinned on me. It was a heavy load. And I, as I rolled to the side and Ridley's tail to the ship's top beside me, didn't want it. Never wanted it.

Ridley's huge clawed hand stopped me in mid-roll, pinning me tight and squeezing so hard I thought I heard something crack. He lowered his head, glowing eyes, glinting teeth, all of that stuff, close to my head—my jerking, struggling, heavily breathing head—and hissed, "You're no hero."

Okay.

Okay—that comment—that comment—hit _far_ too close to home. I froze under Ridley's claws,

Then I snapped. My legs slammed into Ridley's thick chest and a quick burst from the thrusters all along my back (something that powers what you might know as Samus's recovery move) sent me wiggling out from under his grip and flipping up—arm cannon clicking as a various assortment of missiles and bombs alike came pouring out and onto Ridley's screeching face. He turned his face away, the only really vulnerable spot on his body, but I still kept firing, and then there was this strange clicking noise but I still kept firing—and then I noticed that there were no missiles streaming out of the arm cannon anymore, just a strange clicking noise.

A noise that sounded like a gun out of bullets.

Ridley turned his head back towards me with the most smug grin on his face that made me want to shoot him.

Again.

So I did.

Except nothing came out.

"You out of missiles, Ssssssssamusssssssss?" Ridley hissed, teeth baring and flashing their full jagged metal rows in what could've been a full blown space pirate grin. With a jolt, I suddenly realized that that had been his whole plan all along. Aggravate her until she stupidly wastes all her missiles on firing at his highly protected back. Because, BONUS, this girl relied on the missiles more than anything else.

Then Ridley charged.

The Falcon Flyer finally cleared the tunnel as Ridley flung me up and into the air. We were thrown into sunlight, dramatic shadows looming under the base of the floating island until we were diving fast to the water's surface—skimming along top maybe thirty feet above the water, no more. Ridley and I fought, mostly oblivious, as the ship soared over the short stretch of ocean before reaching the rolling grasslands. It was mostly an aerial battle, the ship kept swerving and jerking and diving dangerously, and often I'd suddenly find my floor swept out from under me. Ridley would toss me up into the air, and I'd lash out with the plasma whip and jerk myself back around like this was some sort of crazed gymnastics routine.

R.O.B., Olimar, and a rather enraged Donkey Kong could only catch glimpses of my battle through the now permanent skylight—I doubt they had any idea how badly this was going—and Pit and Captain Falcon were in the cockpit and I had no idea if they had cameras or stuff like that, but it wasn't looking like help was coming anytime soon. (Because, you know, I had specifically told everyone NOT to come).

I swung the whip, lifted slightly off my feet as the ship lurched over the desert directly behind the thin stretch of grassland—and I had just amount of time to widen my eyes in the very slightest, before Ridley's tail came out of nowhere and sent me _flying _as it smacked me across the chest. I rolled as I slammed back into the slick surface of the ship, sliding dangerously close to the opposite side's edge of the ship.

I lurched backwards, trying to get as far away from the edge safety, head whipping from side to side, plasma whip slung loosely over the side of the ship—where had Ridley gone…?

Ridley soared up from beneath the front of the ship (though it swerved violently in reation), wings extended outwards at full, a silhouette against the rising (or setting sun) looking for a moment as the angel of death, wings drawing back, eyes glinting and steely, and my eyes widened one final time that battle before I was frantically pushing backwards and to my feet as he landed hard on the front of the ship.

It was all over from there.

"Sssssssssssssssso weak," Ridley hissed as he stuck me on the side with his claws, sending me staggering backwards. "What happened to the Ssssssssssssamussssss I knew?" A counterstrike to the opposite, exhausted, side. "The one who at leasssssssst gave me a good fight… even when sssssssssshhhe was deluded with visionssssss of heroism and _nobility_…."

I tried, I really did. But it was exhausting._ I_ was exhausted. I didn't have a good defense, his attacks were too strong, he didn't seem to be any closer to tiring then he had at the beginning of this whole thing. I was out of missiles, my old wounds had pretty much reopened by this point, and I was fifteen. _Fifteen_. Fifteen and had never been in a fight my entire life before this week.

Then, as I tried to gather the whip back to me, staggering precariously close to the edge of the back of ship, as if it couldn't get any worse, it suddenly did.

The helmet of the powersuit was loose. It had been, from the beginning of the battle and from the first time Ridley and I fought. The suit was damaged, bad, I had lost auto-aim ages ago, was out of missiles, and the systems were malfunctioning. Whether it had been a really hard hit earlier on, or if that 'securing' of the helmet I had done earlier had messed it up—it was lose.

So when Ridley finished beating me up for the second time in a row that week, as he finished the fight with a smack of his steel tail to the side of my head, and as stars erupted over my vision and everything swayed dangerously as my feet slipped out from under me and I rolled from the force to the very edge of the ship—the helmet slipped off.

It just… slipped.

I was barely able to stop myself from slipping over the edge, holding hard onto the thin slick edge, blinking the spots out of my vision—much less grab something I hadn't quite realized was gone yet.

But then the cool wind hit me full on, my loose curls flying in front of my face, and that was the best feeling in the world—suddenly free of my mask, finally able to breathe good, _clean_ air. But then I realized why I could, and my eyes focused on the tiny red helmet, falling through the air and glinting in the rays of the sun, until I couldn't see it anymore lost in the sand dunes below.

And blood ran down my face.

**********IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

That moment right there, watching my last chance of ever being able to hide disappear into the dunes and be quickly left behind, was the worst feeling I had felt yet in my very short and likely to be ended soon life. I felt a sting in my eyes and I forced them back, despite wanting nothing more than to just let myself slip off the side of the edge of the ship and give up. Cry. Get it over with. Because even if I did win this battle, I had smashers to face. And Pit. All who would be wondering why the heck I was wearing a suit that didn't belong to me and why I wasn't who I said I was.

Ridley had stopped. I think he realized, as my helmet went flying off and a head much more curly and golden than his nemesis's, that something was very, very, off.

Slowly, I got up. And I turned my face towards him, at first obscured as my hair whipped around my head, but then suddenly real as I faced towards the wind.

"You're right," I shouted, eyes flaming but voice so quiet as it normally was without the speakers and on the verge of cracking that it probably ruined the effect. "I'm not _Samus_. I'm not her, I have never been her, and I will never even be _close_ to being her."

Had I been any less devastated, I would've laughed at the look on Ridley's face.

"I _am_ weak. I'm a fifteen _freaking_ year old girl in a world I don't understand," I continued, "who will never be as close to a hero as she is—even if you say she's not, because she fights _trash_ like you."

Ridley suddenly lunged forward, a screech rising from his snapping jaws, tackling me with the extra force from the wind. We both went down hard, one clawed hand on my chest, the other glinting in the air. I choked for a moment, gasping for air that wouldn't quite come, but finally managed to continue, "But… this weak, un-hero-like—"

Ridley's free hand pressed his sharpened claws to my abdomen.

"—fifteen year old girl," I yanked my arm cannon out from beneath his hands and lowered it right at the dent where I had been firing between his eyes, "—also saved you a bullet."

Because I had used all eighteen of the small, and four of the large—but as I had emptied the small missiles into the back of Ridley's head—I still had two large missiles left over.

So when I fired, and Ridley died with a screech and one last scrape at the armor, you might be surprised to find I still had one missile.

I decided to keep it for a rainy day.

* * *

**Hiiiiiiii guuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuys~**

**The ending of this chapter was atually supposed to be a bit longer- with a pretty devestating event happening on Brittney's end (though it's probably not the one you'd think) and general chaos as the ship finally crashed. Fun times. However, the ending of that seemed kinda... endingable. Yes. That is a word.**

**So. I worked a bit more on the story up and coming. Two chapters from now (unless I keep doing that thing where I think it's going to be longer but then I make it shorter) we will have our final main character introduced. And yes, they are a smasher. Technically. Prompt for the person who can guess who it is... (because I really don't think any of you will guess this xD).**

**UP AND COMING: We find out where Wolf was in Brawl. And no, he is not the new main-character.**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS**

To _ThePersonofAwesomeness_: Yeeeeah. xD I should make a list of those frequently experiened awkward moments in this story. I know! It was always a very shocking scene for me, if a little sad. :( This storyline can actually be quite dark. xD YAY TOBUSUS! Outro of darkness then redness then whiteness, bless you face and your review!  
To _Winged Fish_: Hehe, game-robots for the win! And thank you very much for that information on Olimar-I did try to put a bit of him in there, you like? :3 Haha, that is fuuunny. I wish that happened to me more often. *headbang* All those wonderful dead stories... Thank you for your review, and I hope you liked this one!  
To _GamerGuy555_: Thank you for your lovely beta-read as always. :) AHHH-I almost used that this in story, when Ridley stuck his head in-but I didn't want to copy you without your permission. xD Very funny. Thank you for your review, and your awesomeness!  
To _Draconis Kitten Sweetie_: Pshhhhhhhh... AIR. So overated. Hehe. Thanks for your compliments! As for the prompt-like for ThePersonofAwesomness, I can always send you a list of fandoms I know. :3 And YES!-TOBUSCUS! You must wath his videos! Whenever I get sad or frustrated or angry or tired-I just go watch Toby Games fail at Minecraft and Portal and all is well. xD Thank you for your review, and your compliments! Hope you liked it!

**AND THAT BE ALL. :3 See ya next time!**

_-Fleet_

(lol, I just typed my full real name- stupid online course class making me get back into schoooooooool mode...)


	12. Do Your Research

**-Sneaks back in.-**

**Heeeeeeeeeeey. Long time no seeeeeeeeeeeeee. I'm just gonna... you know... ah...**

**Okay. Here's what happened. NaNoWriMo came along. I decided that I was going to do no fanfiction in November. I knew I could only finish one of my fanfiction stories before that time. I had more inspiration for my other one, I chose that one, and scrambled in a finish for that story on November 1st. Probably should've mentioned something to the guys (you guys, if you even still care/are reading this), but I just... I dunno. xD I forgot? Well, ****_December_****, I didn't do any fanficiton either. Vacation lack of internet, and finals in the beginning of the month squished my posting/writing to a minimum. However, because I had no internet, I had no distractions. I wrote roughly 30 k for this story, on THIS story. And, lemme say, this story is a heck of a lot longer than I ever planned it to be. But. It's a heck of a lot more awesome than I ever planned it to be. :D**

**I almost didn't post this. :/ I figured, three months, no update, who would even bother to read it? Then I remembered all the stories I've read on here in which I would do almost anything to see finished. And some of them are still active writers, they just don't think... anyone would read it. I hope at least one person will get to see the end of this story, and if not, well, Bruce will. :3 Because this is technically still a very late or very early birthday present for him.**

**So here we go. The next three chapters of Me, My Bro, and Brawl. :3**

* * *

For a second, I just laid there.

Ridley's body was half-collapsed over mine, a large pressure making it slightly difficult to breathe—but the power-suit's strong skeleton took most of the weight. The wind picked up, whether it was because we were descending or what I don't know, but I let myself lie there under Ridley's weight for a moment, wind washing over my face, eyes closed, hair whipping every which way. Then I moved my hand and arm cannon under Ridley, grit my teeth, and, before I panicked, pushed Ridley off.

Ridley slid over the slick tiles of the Falcon Flyer and tumbled off the edge, quickly lost in the sand dunes below. He didn't have to fall far—maybe fifty or so feet, and that altitude was dropping fast—but I really didn't care, my one free, possibly shaking, hand flickering quickly to my stomach and pressing silently over the ripped and damaged part of the armor grazing over the three long claw-marks that pulled down the thick armor and just grazed my skin below.

_Ow._

Oh, god. This was really not how I planned to go. Wow. Okay. That was _waaaaaaaay_ too close for comfort. I was probably shaking, I admit, as I laid there breathing heavily and blinking the spots out of my vision. I hadn't had too much experience with life-threatening wounds, holding my guts in, bleeding in amounts more than healthy—all that good stuff—but that, I, wow. Way too close to having Ridley's claws sink an inch deeper and pull my ribs from my body.

So I laid there for another full minute.

Breathing.

Living.

Probably in shock.

You know.

The usual.

The ship buckled dangerously. My breath hitched, hand scrambling on the slick surface for a good hold, which quickly managed to find just before any chance of the ship making it safely to wherever the heck we were going blew up in a cloud of smoke.

Literally.

A huge chunk out of the ship's left side screamed as it tore from the ship and spiraled over my head. I closed my eyes instinctively, bracing myself for a blow that wouldn't ever come. Quickly, I opened my eyes again, hand scrambling for a moment before pushing myself upwards into a sitting position. A spasm of pain flew across my stomach, and I squeezed my eyes shut as my hand jerked back to my stomach, clenching my teeth and jerking my head down. Shallow cuts yes, but that didn't mean they didn't hurt.

I rose up onto my knees shakily, arm cannon held out for balance and wishing yet again for a free hand as my only one cradled my stomach, before falling forward onto my hand (and elbow). Eventually, with sand and debris flying by my head, I managed to get myself to my feet with at a staggering pace. From there, it was just tiny steps staggering against the wind towards the now permanent sunlight _tsking_ and hissing the entire way.

We were thirty feet and dropping.

A foot or two outside the hole that would lead to the interior of the still likely to crash ship—I stopped. Hesitated. What would happen, once I went inside? Once they saw me? Once they saw me for who I really was? I had this half formed lie in the back of my mind, something about being Samus de-aged or something weird like that, but my brain was rather dazed and any backup plan I had about my discovery was lost. Had Bruce not been down in that ship, I probably wouldn't have gone down at all.

But he _was_ down there.

But then the ship lurched, and my feet slipped, and my knees unlocked and it became less of a decision and more of a necessity that I fell down through the hole—with only a half-formed prayer that whatever machine that had slowed me down before was still working.

It wasn't.

I hit the floor of the ship pretty hard, knees snapping unlocked and half kneeling on the ground with one knee down and the other locked up with the arm cannon extended for balance and my hand still curled around my stomach. I blinked sluggishly, keeping my head down and eyes turned towards the ground and breathing heavily—both terrified and far too tired to lift my head to see if anyone had even noticed me coming in (and if they had, their reactions). But, of course, eventually I had to—and slowly I stood up again, half staggering, blinking rapidly and finally lifting my head.

Of course, fate had other things to say about it.

The second I did, the ship screamed and shook like its life depended on it. I stumbled, already set off balance, vision swimming. I vaguely registered the Cap shouting at everyone to hold on, and then the floor tipping out from under me and sending me reeling backwards. Then Cap did something, and the ship evened out with a surprising smoothness.

But the damage was done.

I lurched backwards, arm cannon flinging out violently in search of a brace—but I found none. The wall that should've been behind me, the floor that should've been beneath me, was gone. Torn away minutes ago by the force of the winds. I tipped on the edge of the ship, wind whipping behind me—death behind, safety in front—and I lifted my head.

R.O.B. studied my face perplexedly, lenses shifting in and out of focus, wheels ground into the carpeted floor. Donkey Kong wasn't even looking, actually in the process of holding the back of the plane together with muscles rippling. Olimar was nowhere in sight, nor any of his surviving Pikmin. Cap was busy keeping the plane from dive-bombing—but Pit. Pit was turned around in his chair, hair whipping in the wind, a look I couldn't even read on his perfectly still face.

My arms pin wheeled, my one foot slipped onto nothing.

Bruce gave a cry and lunged from under the copilot's chair, and I saw him make a leap for the hole. _Nooooooo—bad Pikachu! Stay in safety! Don't, goddangit—_ I saw Pit jerk to life, drawn back to action by my little bro's movements—and I saw him stand and yell—

And then my other foot slipped—and I didn't even feel myself fall.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Twelve.  
**_  
Do your goddanged research._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I was still half out of it as I started to fall, spinning and twisting madly, world blurry and whipping by so fast I didn't even have a chance to register the sandy winds or the pale blue sky before I hit. I hit the top of a sand-dune sideways, not able to have gotten my balance mid-air,

I rolled, skidding along to the dunes and down its sloped side—the slick metal of Samus's suit spinning me sideways and sliding me to a halt at the bottom of the dune like a sled. Some part of me had hoped that the sand would've been soft, but the world was being pretty fateful at the moment and denied my wish. All the wind remaining in my lungs were blown quickly out, and as I finally skittered to a halt with sand swishing around the suit.

I lay in the sand for several moments. There were a lot of things I could've been thinking about in that exact moment. Maybe about how I had just gotten stabbed through the stomach, maybe about how Pit and ROB both had seen… you know, or maybe how Bruce was still in that plane (which was swooping over my head with a roar before flying, not stopping, past). But really, honestly, the only thing I was thinking about at that moment was how freaking similar this was to Uncharted 3.

You know me—thinking of completely irrelevant references during high-tension situations. Also—

_Ow._

I squinted up at the sun, unable to see the flying ship any longer. Maybe then they had flown on (they were crashing after all) to find a safe place to land and/or crash. This could be trouble, because no matter how much I didn't want to go see them, no matter if I could never find the helmet to make this suit work, I had to find Bruce. That ship was flying at incredible speeds—even if it had been that close to the ground when I fell… it could take a while to catch up.

Groaning, I sat up, knowing where this was going.

I was stranded in the desert.

With little to no protection (this suit was shot).

And, more importantly, one-hundred percent, _alone—_

Pit slammed into the dunes beside me, holding a very wind-blown looking Pikachu in his locked arms, falling into a crouch to scatter the impact on the unsteady sand.

Oh. Well. That makes things simpler.

Speaking of which—Pit tossed Bruce to the side, and practically attacked me, tackling me in the side. We rolled, down a slightly declining sand-dune directly to my left. I instinctively lashed out back, vying for dominance and the upper hand as we rolled. However, Pit was fresh (and maybe just a little bit angry) while I was battle worn and surprised by the sudden aggression, and he pinned me down with his bow across my chest at the bottom of the hill easily, glaring down at me.

"Who," he said, voice surprisingly level and loud in the quiet desert, "_exactly_, are you?"

"Um," I said smoothly.

"Who are you," he repeated, intensifying the pressure on the bow and making me squirm in pain a little, "and what have you done with Samus?"

"I _swear,"_ I, ah, swore, voice low and urgent, "that I come in peace." I swallowed hard at his unforgiving expression, brain scrambling for words. "I don't know _where_ Samus is or how I—"

I suddenly cut myself off, eyes wide.

"How you what?" Pit demanded, searching my face. "How you—?"

You know those video-game moments, especially in the anime ones, where if a character becomes startled, they get exclamation points (!) above their head? Yeah, well, if I were in a video-game (hah) at that particular moment and it were actually physically possible, I would probably have about three, huge, red, exclamation points above my huge, wide eyes.

Pit finally followed my gaze and looked up.

I scrambled forward, shifting under Pit's weight and grabbing him by the shoulders—rolling us in one fluid and totally practiced movement. I ducked my head, burying it over his shoulder, shoulders tense and braced for impact, squeezing my eyes tightly shut as I covered us both with the still tough-to-beat armor of Samus's suit.

Remember the wing of the plane? The one that had fallen off just a minute ago by Ridley's hand? Yeah, well, it finally came back down to earth—slamming feet away from our heads and into the sand with a huge, fiery, explosion of screaming metal and heat.

I waited until the sound finally disappeared from the ringing in my ears before rolling off of Pit silently, flopping into the sand beside him. Pit, when I got a look at his face, looked ruffled and torn, confused and shocked. It probably just occurred to him how close we had been to becoming Pit and Brittney sized pancakes. He sat up slowly, as did I, both of us staring at the huge wing of the plane, half buried and riddled with burns and claw-marks. Bruce, completely unphased, jumped into my lap squeaking. I patted his head absently.

Pit looked over at me, still that pathetically adorable mix of confused, dazed, and a little bit of something else I couldn't read. "You—you saved me," he said, and the way it came out made it sound more like a question.

I tilted my head at him. "Hi," I said eventually, holding out a hand. "My name is Brittney—and this Pikachu is my brother Bruce."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

You see, in reality, it was all part of my master plan. Had I not nearly died that day to save a ship full of one brother, one kinda friend, two strangers and one robot—had I not saved Pit from that ship's wing, when I just as easily could've rolled away—Pit told me later that he wouldn't have jumped out after me, or left me thereafter, respectively. Of course, it helps that _Bruce _jumped out after me in the plane, and Pit ran up to save him from breaking his tinier and less metal reinforced legs, but details, details. I totally planned it.

We didn't say anything much after that. Pit flew off without taking my hand, and, for a while, I thought he wasn't coming back. It became night shortly after, and Bruce and I were blearily walking in the direction of the wreckage (or where I thought the wreckage was) , when Pit joined us again. He didn't say much, just passed me a metal something of red and green.

It was the helmet to Samus's armor. I accepted it gratefully, of course—who knows how long it took for him to find? And why would be bother anyways? I wouldn't get the answers for some time.

We stopped after that, and Pit started a fire (no doubt with his legendary boy-scout skills) while I removed the armor and kinda fixed myself up. The wounds were shallow-ish, and would eventually need some medical attention that I didn't have, but would do for now with the bandages Pit had brought along with some other supplies he said he found scattered around the desert. Bruce mostly chilled out around me, obviously ignorant to the severity of the situation (we had kinda just lost our only friend in this world), mostly in and out sleeping around the fire Pit had set up.

So, after the bandages, I awkwardly sat near the fire, a good distance away from where Pit sat—any ease to our conversations before having vanished. Finally, I couldn't take the silence any longer, and that was really saying something considering.

"Ah, where's everyone else?" I asked, voice quiet and hesitant over the crackle of the fire.

Pit shrugged, surprisingly answering right away. "I jumped out after… _Pikachu_ after he jumped out after you. The remains of the plane were scattered, as far as I could tell; I couldn't find anyone else. If that's even who they really are."

"Oh, boy," I winced, letting out a deep breath and leaning back. "Um, yeah—about that—"

Pit didn't look up from tending the fire, voice low. "Who are you?"

The question wasn't about names. "I don't think you would believe me if I told you," I said slowly.

"Are you Samus?" Pit asked.

"No," I said, shaking my head, and (considering where I was) it was a reasonable question. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Where is she?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you wearing her zero-suit?" Pit asked, voice still at the same, irritating calmness.

"I don't know," I said, becoming more frustrated.

"How long have you been in Samus's suit?"

"I DON'T KNOW," I said, nearly at a shout, half burying my face in spread hands.

Silence.

"…I don't know," I repeated, voice defeated.

Pit stared down at the fire, not saying a word.

I sighed heavily, trying to think of a way to explain, knowing that I had to, I had to do _something. "_Listen…" I started, slow and appeasing, "do you have video-games in this world?

Pit looked up and at me for the first time that evening, a little more lively and interested than he had been up until that point. "Yes. All of us—um, all of the… teenage smashers play them a lot."

"Okay," I said, mind whizzing and trying to process video-game characters playing video games. "Do you have different universes in this world?"

"Um, no?" Pit offered, looking confused. "Different continents… countries… if that's what you mean."  
-Brittney: Um, okay. Let me just say this bluntly. In my world—my universe—this is all a video game that I play. All the characters—all of you—Pit, Samus, Pikachu—I play them on my video screen and accomplish storylines and goals. One of which is this one. The SubSpace Emissary Story.

Pit perked up at SubSpace. "But we play video games of ourselves too!" He protested, making a valid point. The Nintendo company sells the franchise of our various pasts, as well as put us in brawl for publicity."

"But in my world," I said carefully, "nine times out of ten, all the video game characters are just characters. They aren't actual people. In my world—you aren't real."

Pit went abruptly silent, and I winced, realizing how cold that sounded.

"That sounds a bit harsh," I apologized, as Bruce leapt into my lap and curled up to make something that sounded similar to purring. "Sorry—what I meant was—"

Pit cut me off with a sort of desperate ferocity plain in his eyes. "But I'm real!" he protested. "I have all my memories, all my emotions, thoughts—I am as real as can be!"

"I know!" I said quickly, flinching and trying to cover. Note to Self: Bad way to go telling video-game characters that they aren't actually real. "It's just not real… in _my_ world. But now I'm here. I was just playing the game with my little brother here," I looked down at Bruce and then back up at Pit who was staring at the little guy in my lap with a sort of realized horror, "and playing the characters of Samus and Pikachu, when some sort of portal game out of the screen and sucked me in (I think) and I woke up in a forest on the floating island in a zero-suit and totally confused and I went inside the building and found Bruce as a freaking PIKACHU and then we run around beating R.O.B. up and battle these two dark Samus copies and Samus's real suit, which I wear because I'm s_cared for my life_ and want all the armor I can get and battle Ridley and find you and go in the bomb factory even though I really don't want to because I just want to get home and then we find the real R.O.B. as the ancient minister and meet up with Donkey Kong and Diddy Kong and Captain Falcon and we escape just as the island explodes and I battle Ridley—who APPARENTLY can come back to life and get hurt and the plane crashes and you attack me and the plane falls out of the sky and everything explodes and hurts and this is just one long run on sentence but I can't stop because OH-MY-GOD HOW IS THIS MY LIFE?!"

Pit just kind of absorbed all of this as I raced on just pouring out the events from the last week with a sort of shocked look on his face. When I finally finished, he said nothing for a long time, myself waiting in an anxious sort of horror—because, I mean, who in their right mind would believe ANYTHING I had just told them—

"–I believe you."

My head snapped up. "What—really?"

The avian gave me a long unamused look. I quickly realized my mistake, wincing. "Okay, that sounded _really_ bad like I made all that up and I didn't expect you to believe me—but I mean, I _am_ just a little surprised you believed me so easily. Why?"

Pit shrugged. "Because I find it really hard to believe you just made that up on the spot."

"Oh," I said. "Huh. Well, yeah. But still—I could've had that all planned before or somethi—

"—and you also saved my life."

I stopped my rambling, startled into a smile by the slightly less guarded look Pit had sent my way. Well. Maybe everything wasn't a loss. Maybe it was better that this was out in the clear now. Either way, it felt _great_ to be able to take off the suit, and to not worry about slipping up, or souding to un-Samus like. It felt awesome to not… to not _be _her anymore.

Of course, it would only last until we met up with another smasher, in which case the whole process would likely start all over again. Fan-freaking-tastic.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

We took the rest of the night off. It was pretty cool. Even though the desert was cool at night, and it had way too much sand for my liking, it made it so easy to see the billions of stars that twinkled in the pitch-black night sky against the glow of the fire.

Then I realized that they weren't even my own stars and got a little homesick, but it was all good in the end.

When we woke up the next morning, I put the suit back on. Not because I had anything to hide, or needed it for protection (the suit was mostly busted anyways, only one missile and the plasma whip left, not to mention low power), but rather because it was so, freaking _hot._ I was abruptly reminded why desert scenes were never really that popular for human population due to the extreme heat, and I eagerly put the suit pack on for the cooled interior it offered and relative shade.

I felt bad for Pit, walking in the sun. There wasn't much I could do for, Pit looking miserable with his wings limp behind him, as we had no water or any sort of shade in sight. Pit just said that we could go north as far we could, the direction the Cap's ship had crashed, and it would eventually lead us out of the desert in a few days. (A few days, to which I blindly hoped that those days would be less time than it took for dehydration to kill us.)

I felt less bad for Bruce, who decided he was too lazy to walk and clung to my head and blocked my visor.

The relationship between Pit and I started to improve again over the day. It helped that Pit was an angel and naturally the forgiving type and he didn't hold his grudge against me for not telling him outright who I was immediately. I guess, on some sort of level, he understood my reasons, even if he didn't like them. After a few times of calling me Samus, and apologizing and stumbling over what to call me, he started calling me by my real name—Brittney—which was actually more comforting than anything else I had experienced up until that point. Unfamiliar world, unfamiliar stars—but at least I had my own name again. He asked me a lot about Bruce, as he couldn't talk, and I told him about how I was like eighty-two percent sure that this Pikachu was my human brother. I didn't think he believed me at first, but after a demonstration of Bruce's 'pika' and 'chu(s)' (which got really confusing), he started calling Bruce by his own name too.

It was pretty nice. Pit tried to start an exploration sing-along. I smacked him over the back of the head and told him this wasn't Glee. He then asked me what Glee was, and I told him—if taking a bit artistic license of my own.

He never asked again (insert evil laughter here). If this guy ever went to Earth, his perceptions of our culture were going to be so messed up.

"So, you're sixteen?" I asked, giving him a skeptical look up and down. "I thought you were fourteen or something. Brawl was very vague."

"Well," Pit said with a shrug. "I was fourteen when I originally joined Brawl—two years after my first adventure that got me noticed by Master Hand for the Brawl tournaments. Brawl's been going on for two years."

It did make sense, considering Pit did have his own video-game adventure before Brawl, but I wasn't even sure when it was created (and if it was, I'm pretty sure it was a really old game). But wait, wasn't he like some sort of heavenly being? Aren't they like ancient? I needed to do some research if I got home. "Hmph," I said, unhappily, and Bruce gave me a, I swear it on my grave, mocking grin and a _pika-ka-piiiiiiiii,_ which obviously translated to, 'you're not as old and wise and awesome as you thought, huh?'

"Why?" Pit asked, looking over at me. "How old are y—?"

"OH, LOOK," I said loudly, "I think we found the rest of Cap's ship!"

And it was true, not just an excuse. We breached over the latest and completely unoriginal sand-dune, only to see the broken Falcon Flyer half buried and still smoldering at the bottom of the little valley. I couldn't see any movement from here, nor did the half-dead armor pick up any vague life-signs, but Pit and I both exchanged a look (if a bit funny looking due to the pokémon ontop my head/shoulder) before taking off for the broken off hole in the side.

We stopped outside the breach, Pit fearlessly, and rather stupidly (but who am I to judge?), making straight inside the ship with a small duck under the lopsided entrance. I sighed, ducking in after him and inside the dark and shaded flying machine.

The inside was ransacked an empty, reeking alarmingly of blood and men. Or ape. You know. Machines and parts and sand alike were cast about the interior, the nice leather seats from before completely and unfortunately shredded under the force of the crash. I grimaced; shaking my head as Pit uselessly checked the cockpit for the missing smashers. _There were no life-signs to begin with_, I thought, peering around, _and I don't see any trophies, so—_

_"Hello."_

I jumped out of my skin, whipping around with my adrenaline fueled spin finally but accidently tossing Bruce from my head. I raised the arm cannon threateningly, and the only thing that stopped me from firing at the lump of shadow in front of the exit was the simple fact that I only had one last bullet.

However, while I had never heard the voice before, Pit obviously had, jumping from the cock-pit delightedly. "R.O.B!" He said, happy to have found someone.

I blinked, readjusting the visor that I had darkened for the intense sun, only to find that, yes, the shadowy lump was actually robot shaped. I stared at R.O.B. for a moment, never having heard his voice, as Pit and he conversed about the plane-crash and what had happened afterwards. Apparently, R.O.B. had been thrown from the plane with DK (DK long before him out the back, and he himself after). He had been searching for the wreckage as well, only to find us inside one he did.

He sounded like Data. You know? TNG?—nevermind. I revised my original mental picture of R.O.B. speaking in_ beeps_ and _boops_ and silence.

I suddenly jolted back to myself, realizing that both of them were staring at me. R.O.B. had Bruce on his head, not seemingly to mind, and I met R.O.B.'s focusing camera gaze steadily. Then, deciding it wasn't worth it and remembering how R.O.B. had been the other smasher in that plane to see me before I fell, I reached up and slowly pulled the helmet off, skin and hair thanking me as it was reunited with mostly fresh-air.

R.O.B. assessed me for a moment. _"You are not Samus," _he said after a moment.

"No, I am not," I agreed.

There was a long, terse silence. It was very hard to read what was going on through a robot's head. I felt strangely nervous, even if he _was_ a bunch of pixels, as if I was taking some kind of test, being run through R.O.B.'s data to assess me as… worthy? Safe? An ally?

Either way, when R.O.B. slowly nodded his head at me, a very human gesture of acceptance, the relief of his approval warmed me to my very core and I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

_"My access to the outside world is limited,"_ R.O.B. said in that same almost mono-tone voice, after we had all sat/stood down in our respective places. _"The communications of this shuttle are damaged beyond repair and the captain is nowhere in sight. We are most-likely completely cut off from the outside world."_

It would've sounded more ominous if Bruce wasn't yawning cutely and rolling over on his flat head.

I still decided to make a defeated and dry comment of, "so we're going to most likely die of thirst without any hope of rescue?" from my spot sitting on one of the ruined leather chairs. Because I'm just negative like that.

R.O.B. turned towards me._ "I have access to my own satellite beacon. I know the general area of where we are and which direction we need to go to get to civilization and out of the desert."_

"Why didn't you say so?" I asked, taken aback. "Give us our options, Kowalski."

Bruce perked up with a squeak on R.O.B's head. I jerked my thumb in his direction when Pit gave me a confused look. "That reference was for his benefit only."

R.O.B., despite his lack of knowledge on Earth's movie culture, seemed to get the general gist of the request. _"If you wish for a way out of the desert quickly, the desert ends to the north-west about a human's pace of two days walk from here."_

"Is there any civilization near that option?" Pit asked sensibly, while I mentally deflated at the idea of walking two more days.

_"No,"_ R.O.B. said. _"It opens into prairies, which would just as likely be able to kill you humans and pokémon respectively as the desert."_

"Well, where's the closest friendly civilization?" I asked, raising a hand. "Preferably one that can hold its own against subspace and not be screaming civilians and red-shirts that need our help. Unless they have water." My stomach rumbled. "And food."

R.O.B. went silent for a minute, presumably looking internally at a map inside his memory banks. Samus's armor held some maps as well, however the power and reliability of the suit was too low for me to do much of anything with it (because I needed to conserve power to walk it for the next two days, apparently), as well as my own directional skills and geological knowledge of Nintendo being pretty poor.

_"Melee Mansion,"_ R.O.B. said, after a long moment. Pit perked up, while I mentally berated myself for not doing more playing/research on the Nintendo Games.

"Melee Mansion like the game Melee for Super Smash Brothers?" I asked, trying valiantly to keep up, because, honestly, that was pretty much all I knew about it.

_"The second Smash Brothers Tournament, yes,"_ R.O.B. confirmed. _"The mansions and stadiums that house the smashers during their participations of the tournaments and brawls usually are far out from society so the smashers can live and train in relative peace. However, since the current Brawl Stadium is consumed by sub-space, in my time as the Ancient Minister I suspected that the gathering of resistance would group there in the empty but stocked mansion and its defendable grounds. Bowser and Ganondorf attempted to storm the mansion earlier on, a few days ago, but the mansion is secured by a large force-field that we cannot break through."_

"But we're friendlies now," Pit broke in, excited, "so they'd let us in, right where everyone else might be!"

"It is possible," R.O.B. agreed neutrally.

Personally, the idea of going in a locked-in area where tons of likely ticked-off and paranoid smashers were likely residing _wasn't_ _my favorite idea at the moment. _But if that was where the story was progressing, if that's where Bruce's and my own ticket home, or potential answers, might be, it would be worth a shot.

"Okay, it does sound promising," I agreed, after a long moment, before turning back to R.O.B. "How far away is it?"

R.O.B. paused, obviously running some numbers. _"Two and a half days walk to the edge of the desert,"_ he said, after a moment, _"and then another day or half a day depending on your stamina and energy through a forest on the outer rims of the mansion lands."_

I winced, crossing my arms. It was a long walk, and without any proper supplies…

"Can't you guys fly?" I asked, opening my eyes to look at them questioningly. "You could get there much more quickly and call in rescue."

Pit shrugged. "The thermals above the desert are either completely dead-air or super windy. It'd be exhausting, and fighting against the thermals to go the way I want would likely take more energy than I have at this point," he admitted. "Plus, leaving you guys behind… no. I can't do that."

I gave Pit a look, one that said, _'I am completely unimpressed with your heroism and noble intentions,'_ before turning to R.O.B. and lifting my eyebrows at him. "Can't you do rocket-wheels or something?" I was vaguely remembering his recovery move.

R.O.B. nodded, slow, and it was still strange to watch. _"However, my power levels are low and I have not recharged since two days previous on the island. I would only be able to make about half the journey before having to return to a ground level pace."_

"Of course," I said. "Because nothing can ever be that easy."

"Pika-pi," Bruce agreed.

And so, the way more difficult than it should have been journey to Melee Mansion began.

* * *

**YAY. :3 OFF TO MELEE MANSION. IF THEY EVEN MAKE IT THAT FAR!**

**UP AND COMING?! ** _"Of course, because everything was going pretty well, besides the threat of death by dehydration and starvation in a desert stranded in the middle of nowhere, something had to happen. Just walking out of the desert would've been so horribly anticlimactic, that several of you readers might just stop reading here with a scoff and a 'GET OFF THE STAGE'._

_Thankfully, that's when the Moblins attacked."  
_

_**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS. IF YOU EVEN STILL REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID. xD**  
_

**Draconis Kitten Sweetie: **Yup, yup, and yup! :3 Thank you very much. And I do tend to break the 4th wall frequently. I think I do that quite a bit next chapter, xD It probably annoys some people, but I'm always amused whenever someone else does it. Well, it was pretty easy for Pit and R.O.B., but for the others? It might be a little more difficult. About the prompt, I am totally still ready to do it. I can send you a list of fandoms if you're still reading. :3 Thank you very much for your review, and hope to hear from you. :)

**Gamerguy555: **That comment in itself was pretty clever. xD So thanks. I didn't contact you about beta-reading becayse, well, I'm not sure if you're still reading/want to edit, as its been a while. :3 But the work you did do was really awesome, and if you're still interested, I'm always up for someone reading my sketchy work and smacking me in the back of the head at my stupid mistakes. Thanks very so much for your review!

**LegendOfZeldaFreak: **Well. Here are the reactions. xD After three whole months. Better late than never? Prompt wise, I'm still up for it. I can send you a list of fandoms, if you wish. ;) And... goddangit. YOU MIND-READER. SORCERER. EVERYONE RUN AND HIDE AND AHJGL:ADKHKA:L. Anyways, you guess very right, and thanks very so much for your review!

**Guest: **Thank you very much! :D And all your guesses are very right. Thank you for your review, it's always cool to hear from someone new!

**PITFANGIRL: **Thanks! :D I'm glad you liked it! I can tell. ;) And Brittney totally took your advice. She just received it telepathically and... yup. xD Anyways, thanks so much for your review, and I hope I hear from you again!

**hmikulak: **Thanks for your review! And, well, xD That's the second request I've had for that. I'm probably not going to put them in a romance, as that's very typical of many OFC stories, and I'd prefer not to be typical and keep my story adventure and humor oriented and them as just really good friends towards the end. But, you know, anything can be interpreted as you like. ;) Thanks very much for your review!

**Well. I'm expecting, maybe, one person to show up again? xD Oh, well. My fault for not saying anything. I do hope at least someone gets excitement/enjoyment out of these next up and coming chapters! Adios, and hope to hear from you!**

***salutes***

_**-**Fleet_


	13. They're Still There

Two days and three sand-storms later, I decided I hated the desert.

"I. HATE. FREAKING. LEEVERS," I shrieked, aiming the plasma whip and blasting one into oblivion. The technique effectively made a mini-dust storm, to which I promptly sucked up through my air vents and lapsed into a coughing fit.

And leevers.

I struggled with the fire-like snakes from Zelda franchise, they being attracted to the heated metal I had completely surrounding my body. They heated the metal, often coming close to burning me, as well as being completely and utterly annoying. When I calmed down from my rampage enough for R.O.B. to carefully and precisely burn the snakes away with lasers soft enough not to actually hurt me, the snakes finally fled into the sand. I wasn't happy to see them go—I'd probably run into another bunch within the next hour.

These past two days had been complete hell.

Without food or water, our steady progress gradually weakened as we trumped across the desert. The sun was unbearably hot. I couldn't tell if the suit was lying or not, as it was super-heated alloy, but at one point it said it was over a hundred and ten degrees during the middle of the day. Night was somehow equally as horrible, with freezing temperatures in comparison, as well as threats from the beasts that went bump in the dark. Between R.O.B's lasers and missiles, Samus's plasma whip, Bruce's never ceasing energy, and Pit's endless light arrows, we were mostly doing fine against the desert animals—mostly Zelda and Pokémon franchise species.

I was mostly okay inside the suit, the minimal power I had left was mostly used to keep me cool, but my wounds were taking a serious toll and I was limping heavily by this point in the story. It felt like we'd been walking forever, and it was obvious as I looked around after the leever incident that we were a pathetic looking bunch.

Pit was both pale all over and flushed in the face, shuffling the sand with his sandals mindlessly, one arm limply dragging his bow behind. He'd been cheerfully optimistic at the start of our journey, but three sand-storms later, including one horrible one where he'd nearly been blown away and I had to actually _hug_ him (the suit weighed a lot, okay?) and his avian bones to make him stay on the ground. He'd been getting progressively quieter and passive as the journey went on, something that was rather worrying.

Bruce was passed out on R.O.B.'s head, the one cool piece of metal around, obviously half-asleep from exhaustion. R.O.B. was, well, R.O.B. I was most afraid for him—he with a smaller body would probably need more water than say I or Pit did, which was why I was so content to let him hitch a ride instead of walk.

R.O.B.? Well, R.O.B. was R.O.B. He wasn't affected very much by the heat, although a few times I had to help him clear the sand out of his wheels.

"C'mon, guys," I said, stomach twisting as I looked them over. "Let's keep moving."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Thirteen.  
**_  
Just because a character is never mentioned in the story doesn't mean they aren't there._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

R.O.B. lit the fire this time with his lasers, letting Pit and I pass out (Bruce was _already _passed out on my lap) in the sand a bit of the ways over. Apparently we had done some good mileage today, no wonder we were freaking exhausted, and were about two or three hours walk to the edge of the forest. After that, another six or seven hours and we'd be on the edge of Melee Mansion's land, thank god. Still, the idea of another day of walking was disheartening, and Pit and I sat silently by each other, brooding, nodding off, but not quite willing to fall asleep with the beasts of the night still on prowl.

Pit looked beat; strangely quiet, lying limp in the sand a few feet away and staring blankly up at the stars.

"Is it fun? I asked, suddenly, staring up at them too and petting Bruce's head on my knees. Pit rolled his head over at me, sand in his hair, a question in his eyes. I made a vague gesture with my hand, towards the sky. "Flying."

A slow smile grew across Pit's face, and the wings haloing his face ruffled at the thought. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, it's pretty awesome."

The thought of flying like that brought a wistful sort of smile to my own face too. It must be so cool, having another set of limbs like that, to just power them on, once, twice, and then just to be up _there_. I'd always liked that series, Maximum Ride, and now seeing an example of an avian kid here, in the flesh… it was pretty cool.

"Didn't Samus have some jets on her boots?" Pit asked, breaking me out of my thoughts. "I thought she had something to help her… to help her _fly."_

I had nearly forgotten about those. "Yeah," I acknowledged, "but they're difficult to operate. I'm not very good. It's one of those things that I think take years to master."

Pit shrugged into the sand. "So did flying with wings."

Huh.

Well, then. Time for deeply personal question number two.

"Do you like Brawl?" I asked, turning my head over to look at him, flat on my back in the sand. "Living with all those different personalities… people…. fighting them every day?"

"Well, we don't fight every day," Pit clarified, staring upwards at the inky sky. "Most of it is training—everyone always has to keep getting better to keep up with the people around them. Tournaments and brawls happen usually every few days, and open fights to the public on Saturdays. All the others are usually recorded and then broadcasted across most of the regions in the world—except Hyrule, but they've always been a bit backwards. We have organized fights by the Nintendo Corps reps every few days, like I said, and other days we can challenge each other just for fun. But overall… it's… really, really great."

"And you all get along?" I asked skeptically.

"For the most part," Pit said with a shrug. "Obviously there's going to be some tension between Link and Zelda and Sheik and Ganondorf, as well as Bowser, Peach, and the Mario Bros, or Wolf and Fox and Falco, but we mostly just keep out of each other's way and be with the people we want to be with rather than the people we don't."

"Whoa, wait," I said, narrowing my eyes. "Zelda _and_ Shiek? Aren't they the same person?"

Pit told me.

"Oh," I said. "That actually makes a lot of sense, now that I think about it."

There was a bit of a comfortable silence, the flame crackling, myself absently petting Bruce behind his criminally fluffy ears with my other arm slung behind my head to keep it off the ever persistent sand. The stars were back, in millions and billions of glowing lighthouses, stuck at the far end of the sky. I smirked at my own reference, before being sobered at how true it was. One thing I had to admit I liked about this world was it stars. I could actually _see_ them, unlike the empty black sky above my suburban house. It was nice.

Really nice.

That didn't mean I liked this place any better though. I could still only count on one hand the things I liked about it.

"So," Pit said, startling me out of my thoughts, "how old are you, exactly?"

"Three-hundred and four," I said, without missing a beat.

Pit's eyes widened and I struggled not to laugh. "Really?" he asked, voice in awe.

"No," I cackled, bursting into a grin at his gullibility. "Heck, no. I'm human all the way. Fifteen."

It was Pit's turn to grin now. I scowled and scooped up sand with my free-hand, disturbing Bruce from his slumber and making him squeak indignantly at me. "Shut up," I snarled, but still smiling. "I turn sixteen next month. I think. My sense of time is so screwed up."

Pit's grin died to a softer smile, and he rolled back over onto his back. "S'okay," he said. "I turned sixteen two months ago, I think. I'm so used to being the youngest, in Palutena's army and all, and, well, one of the youngest in Brawl too. It's just weird to be older than someone for once."

"Eh," I said, trying to remember who Palutena was again, _some sort of goddess?_ "Well, I'm the oldest in my family, and it always sucked, doing everything first, having the most expectations and limitations on my shoulders. Then… all the responsibility. I can't screw up, or fail, or mess up because I— It's… it's not all that great."

We both paused, mulling over that. Then,

"Obviously," I explained, "this is all just some fail author's attempt to preform character development by reversing the roles and positions of two of the main-characters so they realize they have some sort of connection this way and will probably come back later in the story as a recurring theme of character reversals."

"What?" Pit asked.

"I don't know," I said honestly. "What were we talking about again?"

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

So. Half a day's walk from the edge of hell. Not too bad. If we left early in the morning, out of the heat of mid-day, it was doable. Pit and I talked a bit more, mostly about crappy emotional stuff that I really wouldn't like to repeat. The point was, we were becoming friends. Friends. He was getting through my hostile and defensive exterior with its front line of jabs and sarcasm by killing me with kindness, the Mary Sue.

It was nice, though. Having a friend that wasn't a pokémon and everyone looked at you strange for trying to communicate to it in _pika(s)_ and _chu(s)._

Of course, because everything was going pretty well, besides the threat of death by dehydration and starvation in a desert stranded in the middle of nowhere, something had to happen. Just _walking_ out of the desert would've been so horribly anticlimactic, that several of you readers might just stop reading here with a scoff and a 'GET OFF THE STAGE'.

Thankfully, Moblins attacked.

R.O.B. was on watch. Well, he was _always_ on watch, considering he didn't have to sleep, but awakening to a shrill beeping sound a few feet away from my ear that R.O.B. considered our alarm was pretty disorienting.

I sat up blearily, blinking my sleep crusted eyes over at the robot, frowning. "S'goinon?" I managed to get out, never a morning/waking up suddenly in the middle of the night person.

_"I believe we are under attack,"_ R.O.B. said calmly, and the little light signaling his laser's charge popped on.

I was awake so fast I was rather proud of myself looking back. I rolled over, aware of Pit grabbing his bow and racing to put his back to the fire, grabbing Samus's helmet and smashing it over my head, smacking Bruce's still somehow asleep head with the back of my hand and a sharp, _'up!' _The suit came to life under the helmet's power-source, and the night-vision instantly flooded my vision with highlighted hunched over forms of some creatures I didn't recognize (and the helmet supplied a name, and the weak points, of the Moblin) sneaking through the brush that became increasingly thicker as we neared the edge of the desert. I leapt back, Bruce tucked in one arm and plasma whip lashing in the other, directly to where Pit stood.

Unfortunately, I didn't get very far, something snaking a hand around my foot and sending me sprawling onto my back with a clang of scratching metallic plates. I huffed, the wind knocked out of me, lashing out with two kicks and muttered curses, visor lighting up my vision with more and more life-signs by the second, all wielding very crude, but very effective, spears.

On the third kick, I managed to land it, smashing the skull of the rather ugly face of the Moblin with my heavy boot, scrambling to get my feet under me with one arm still wrapped protectively around my bro. I could hear the sound of lasers firing and light-arrows firing, but as I staggered to my feet and slapped several Moblins back with the plasma whip I could only really concentrate on the increasing amount of life-signs and glowing figures on the screen of the visor. There were _dozens _of them, more than we had ever seen up until this point.

It would be fine, though. Bruce and Pit had almost unlimited amounts of weaponry and offense attacks considering, and R.O.B. was actually pretty decent in holding his ground without the lethal lasers even with low power. Even though I was down to one missile, and finally just letting an eager Bruce down and into the bloodshed, I still had the plasma whip, and with the four of us, we should probably be able to hold them off.

"Brittney!" I turned, at the sound of Pit calling my name, distracted by the sight of Bruce lunging with a blood-lusting cackle and sparks of electricity directly into a Moblin's face. I turned, and Pit was moving towards me and gesturing to a Moblin to my right that I hadn't seen yet even as he speared another through the stomach with the divided halves of his bow. I nodded my thanks mid-swing, whirling the whip around and catching it around the stomach and hurling it not very gently into the rocky ground.

I continued the spin with the momentum, willing to return the favor as I turned back towards Pit (who was moving towards me anyways). Then, of course, I finished the turn just in time to see a Moblin swinging a huge rod towards the back of Pit's unsuspecting head.

It connected with a sickening ringing _whaaaaaap!_ sound. Pit went down hard, never having had a chance, even as I was opening my mouth to warn him, crumpling forwards nearly at my feet. I stared, wide-eyed for a second, before turning in fury to lash out at the Moblin with the rod, catching the whip about his head and neck and nearly taking his head off as I threw him into his friends beside him. Pit looked like he tried to get up for a second out of the corner of my eye, hand coming up to the back of his head and coming away red as I forced back the swarms of Moblin racing forward for their kill. Then Pit apparently decided that yes, that was _definitely_ a massive head-wound, and pretty much keeled over my feet.

_Crap. Crap. Crapcrapcrapcrap. Okay, okay, _maybe_ we could still do this, _I thought dazedly, planting my feet so I wouldn't accidently jostle the now unresponsive Pit as well as protect him from the hoard. Sure, there were even more than there were before, so thick I could barely make out the flashes of shiny white metal or sparks of electricity.

Okay. Okay. Maybe we _couldn't_ do this.

"BRUCE!" I shouted, voice sounding strange, detached and loud through the electronic speakers as I elbowed a Moblin's chest behind me, "NOW WOULD BE A VERY EXCELLENT TIME FOR A THUNDER-BOLT."

Bruce, riding the top of a spazzing Moblin's head as he shocked it to death, gave me a look that clearly said, _'if-I-was-going-to-do-it-don't-you-think-I-would've-done-it-by-now?'_

"_Goddangeduslesslittle_—" I snarled, not meaning a second of it, as I whirled around as another Moblin came dangerously close to spearing the sensitive and weakened areas of the armor's chest-plate where already three very Ridely-shaped claw marks lined the armor. I jerked one shoulder back, switching to a sideways stance to avoid the spear's lunge, giving the Moblin a fierce glare behind the visor and smashing its face in with the pretty-much useless as a gun but very effective as a hard punch arm-cannon of the suit.

There was a sudden sound of jets firing and I lifted my head from bodily slamming it into another way-too-close Moblin. R.O.B. had shot up into the air, shaking Moblin from his body as he flew higher and higher, turning his metallic eyes towards me.

I met them.

"BRUCE!" I shouted a call and turned (arm-cannoning a Moblin in front of me and withdrawing the whip while doing so). Bruce came flying out of the masses of scrambling Moblin and onto my extended arm. I spun around, tossing him up and onto my other free hand, before pulling back and launching him as high as I could towards R.O.B. I overshot it a little bit, underestimating the strength of the half-dead armor, but R.O.B. compensated by jetting up a little higher as he weaved around the thrown spears.

As soon as I saw he had him, I released the whip again, pulling as best as I could in a full circle without moving my planted feet (which, again, had Pit slumped against them) and just pushing back the now more weary Moblin who had drawn back from me in a full circle. "Go!" I shouted upwards, shooting little glances towards them when I could spare it. "Bring back help! Fly fast! Go on!"

Being heroic, unlike Pit suggested, was not all that great as it was chocked up to be. I was barely holding my ground, likely about to become a sheesh-ka-bob along with Pit on the ground. The Moblin were getting smarter, drawing back, forming a tight circle around me and him, lowering their spears and slowly pressing in. I could only keep them back for so long. Even then, I saw R.O.B. hesitating just for the briefest of seconds, hovering and dodging his own pursuers with Bruce planted safety on his head.

"We'll be FINE!" I said, brandishing my free-fist at him. "JUST GO."

R.O.B. was a machine. He knew the odds. He knew when we were beat. He knew when to retreat. With a sudden burst of extra fire from the thrusters powering his jets, R.O.B. turned and jetted off high and fast in the direction we were planning on traveling towards in the morning.

Towards Melee Mansion.

To bring back help, mostly likely far too late, even with his faster speeds.

Leaving us alone.

Most likely to die.

I did not like this whole self-sacrificing heroism thing.

But as least Bruce was safe.

The Moblin pressed forward, slow, and I whipped back and forth, conscious of Pit at my feet. I was on edge turning at every movement, whip lashing, a bright neon white line of light against the darkness of the eerily fire lit clearing.

I couldn't win this fight.

And so slowly, after withdrawing the plasma-whip back into its place, and with thirty-six Moblin lowering their spears at my chest, I lifted my one hand and my one arm-cannon high into the air above my head in the universal sign of surrender.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Apparently, that's what they were after all along. Several of the Moblin from behind pressed forwards until their spears were pressing at the armored back of Samus's suit, nudging me not very gently forwards. I stumbled at the pressure, before the circle in front of me parted somewhat until I realized they wanted me to move forwards. Oh. So this was a _capture_ then. Maybe they were cannibalistic species that liked a little hint of metal and feathers in their humans. I planted my feet, stubbornly backing up when they forced me a few feet further away from Pit than I had liked when I realized what they wanted me to do.

I crouched down, glaring at any of the Moblin that dared challenge me, and coaxed an obviously not-entirely there Pit to sit up with blood running in streams down the side of his face. I winced as he tried to stand, knees obviously not responding to his call to lock, before catching him on the shoulder and with the help of the suit hoisting him over my shoulder in a fire-man's hold—something that would've been pretty impossible without the armor.

"I hope you're grateful," I muttered quietly in Pit's ear as I readjusted him on my shoulder and carefully tested out a few steps forward, "you're heavy for an avian kid—you know that?"

Pit mumbled something about pancakes and clouds before promptly passing out.

Fan-freaking-tastic.

With the Moblins flanking me on either side and pressing at me with spears from behind, we began to march forward. After a few unsteady steps forward, I learned quickly how to balance Pit on my shoulders while not being under threat of tripping or being set off balance by the shifting sand underneath my feet. It was difficult, and without the armor I never would've been able to do it, but it was necessary. There was no telling what the Moblin would've done if I'd left him behind.

We walked for hours. My limp, which usually disappeared after we rested until the end of the day of us walking, returned and made the whole trek even more difficult than it was. The excess use of the plasma suit had drained the barest of power of the suit, and I'd had to turn off all systems except for the filtration ones so I could actually breathe without having to remove the helmet and potentially set me off balance enough to drop Pit (in which I might not be able to get him up again). If it had been anytime but night, it would've become unbearably hot inside the suit (and potentially dangerous), and without conversation to keep my mind off of things, the trek seemed to last forever.

I had literally just thought, _I'm not going to make it_, when we arrived.

We breached one of the taller sand-dunes I had climbed as of yet, looking down into a rocky valley. Square in the middle of it all, on the firmest part of rock, sat a building—a palace. I looked up through the suit, head and shoulders having been hunched over from the trek, at the huge building, at least three or four stories tall and looking almost Russian in style, (Yeah, world history. I remember that Russian Chapter. Yes, I do) with huge doming ceilings and tall gothic style arches. It was strangely… beautiful.

Of course, the most important and interesting piece of information, was that it was made almost entirely out of wood.

Huh. Well. I could work with that.

A Moblin snarled something at me and tapped me in the back with his spear. I glared at him, not even realizing I had stopped, before staggering forward again and trying to regain the perfect speed and step lengths I had had before.

I just hoped I didn't have to climb any stairs.

What? It was a reasonable thought, considering.

We entered the palace just as the sun began to rise and the shaded interior of the palace made the temperatures actually pretty cool. It was lit by wooden chandeliers swinging far over my head, candles casting the various rooms we passed through into bright glows. Finally, after a bit of navigating (and one staircase that I never, _ever, _wanted to repeat in my entire life), we emptied into a large room with tall wooden pillars and open windows high along the top of the walls. There was what I could only assume to be a—goddangit—_throne, _elevated on a wooden platform with wooden stairs leading up to it.

We were pushed to the front of the open room, to the front of the throne, myself shooting one last hostile glare at the Moblin as they pushed me forwards before withdrawing a few feet away to line the walls and pillars to watch the following processions.

Of course, there was the simple matter of who indeed sat on the thrown. Five bucks says you haven't guessed.

Sitting on the throne, looking down at me and my package (who I carefully and painstaking set down against a pillar to my left) with a slightly amused look on his face, was none other than Wolf.

Wolf as in, Star-Fox never appeared in the SubSpace emissary storyline Wolf.

I glared at him in what could only be described as, _'what-the-actual-fudge-you're-not-supposed-to-be-in-this-storyline'_ look.

"Samus," Wolf greeted slowly, mouth stretching into a—wait for it—wolfish grin. "What a pleasant surprise."

Oh, fantastic. Just when I was getting used to having my own name back.

"Uh, I would return the compliment," I started, barely able to keep the irritation out of my voice, "but, you know, circumstance."

Wolf's yellow eye narrowed. "What's wrong with your voi—?"

"I have a cold, okay?" I snarled, thoroughly annoyed at the question I'd been asked at least three times thus far. "Geez."

"…Right," Wolf said, after staring at me a moment. "Moving on. Welcome to my humble abode. I think the Moblin did quite a good job building it, don't you agree? They make surprisingly good, and stupid, minions."

I shot a glance over at the Moblin, who shuffled their feet and generally looked like the pinnacle of idiocity and nodded in agreement. Okay, that actually made a bit of sense. "How did you get them to follow you?" I asked. "They don't seem like the type to follow orders very well."

"Oh, they follow orders very well," Wolf said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "After I killed their leader, they were all so fearful of my power they gave me their palace and loyalty."

Well. You had to give him credit for excellent fear-tactics.

"So," I said next, not too willing to continue this far too pleasant conversation and leave myself in suspense of our ultimate fate. "I'm _dying_ to know. What do you want with us?"

"Well," Wolf said, snapping his fingers. A Moblin ran up and laid its abnormally large body down beneath the throne, to which Wolf instantly propped his feet up on. Points combining style and crudeness. "I wasn't planning on visitors—I was really just planning to stay out of the way while they world ended."

"That seems remarkably plain for a villain," I told him.

"Oh, I wasn't finished," Wolf said, giving me a disapproving look. "After the world ends and all the heroes are either dead or enslaved, I'll take advantage of the initial chaos and take over what remains of the world."

That seemed infinitely more likely.

"The only real reason I haven't killed you right here and now," Wolf continued, sighing and leaning back in his chair as if tiring of all the inconvenience of the situation of two of Nintendo's most renown heroes being delivered into his arms, "is because of that troublesome trophy-mode Nintendo Corps set up. I kill you, and then you just turn into a statue for a while until someone hits the golden base and you appear in a flash completely healed and alive."

I decided not to mention that I didn't have a trophy mode.

"Of course, that might be easier for holding the two of you and potentially delivering you to Ganondorf—you do know you two have a bounty on your heads, don't you?—for that… quite large booty. I do enjoy fortune, but I'm not entirely convinced that my prize for delivering you two to his arms would be the money he talks about."

"Wow," I deadpanned. "I think you're, like, the first villain I've ever known whose ever seen that coming."

Wolf flashed an unimpressed but, again, very wolfish grin in my direction. "I'm flattered," he said in the same voice. "But I do believe you're not going to enjoy this new direction I'm going to take any better."

Oh, yay. I subtly shifted over towards Pit, hands clenching into fists inside the suit, ready for a fight, as Wolf lifted one hand, one gigantic claw pointing straight at me. Or, rather, the armor I wore.

"Your armor," Wolf said slowly, and I really did not like where this was going, "is one of the most sophisticated weapons in the entire universe. It alone would probably fetch a hefty price, but if I could mass produce it—"

"Uh, yeah," I said, brandishing the arm cannon, "no. If you think I'm just going to give up a piece of technology that—mass produced—could potentially end modern civilization as you know it you are sorely mistaken, my furry not-friend."

Wolf grinned, all teeth and snarls. "Wasn't asking," he said.

About a dozen of the Moblin slowly readjusted their grip of their very pointy spears and began to move forwards towards me. I whirled around towards them, ready to let loose the plasma whip in full furry, backing up towards Pit (still slumped against the pillar, and I'd seen too many movies to know people use people they care about against them) and ready to fight. I turned my helmeted head towards Wolf, glaring at him. "It's not going to work," I tried, making it up as I went along. "You know that this thing is biologically a part of my body. I die, or I get knocked out, and this this vanishes with me. You can't take it off."

Wolf shrugged, leaning back into his throne. "We'll see."

"Um, crap?" I asked, not meaning for it to come out more like a question (which it did).

Of course, this was about all the time I got before Wolf jerked his hand lazily and the Moblin directly to my left surged forward, brandishing their spears. I glared daggers at them, releasing the plasma whip from the arm cannon, lashing it threateningly their way and rolling up onto the balls of my feet, ready to dodge and roll with the punches.

When the attack finally came, and it did, most of the Moblin were too busy worrying about whether their comrades were running towards me as well rather than the person they were trying to attack. Either way, their numbers and forces were unbalanced, something I could surprisingly easily pick out among their charging ranks. They were easy enough to take down, if the last two (and the most intelligent of the two) did give me a bit of trouble towards the end. When the last one fell, I turned my head almost owl-like way, giving Wolf a slightly pained but all together smug look that, even behind my mostly expressionless mask, totally said—

_That all you got?_

Wolf leaned forward in his throne, gesturing for the next dozen to move forward, lifting his head at me in what could only be a—

_Oh. It. Is. ON._

This went on for a while. I started to think my brawl between each dozen of the Moblin was becoming some sort of entertainment to Wolf, who watched the whole thing without any real worry but some growing mild interest. He seemed impressed as I continued on, struggling increasingly with each set as I grew more tired, my limp more pronounced, and the enemies harder.

It was pretty… exhausting. I particularly struggled on the third round, one of the Moblins getting in a good hit that leveled me even as I nailed it into the wooden floors. I was amused by the irony, laughing quietly into the floor as I struggled to push myself back up as Wolf (strangely courteous) waited until I got up until waving the next ones in. I spared a glance over at Pit, still worryingly slumped over (but the suit still showed me not too bad life-signs, just about half as strong as normal). If anything, I would've expected the experienced making it this far, of fighting the long battles—the strong staying strong instead of inexperienced taking their place.

It also reminded me of those levels where the game screen would lock and you had to get through a certain amount of enemies before moving on. Oh, the subtle game references. I was so in a video-game.

Mostly, I was just buying time. R.O.B. was out there somewhere, and if I could just hold the Moblin and Wolf off long enough so that they wouldn't _kill_ me (as I don't think they understood that _I didn't have a freaking trophy mode)_, maybe R.O.B. would show up with Bruce who had magically learned thunderbolt, or even better, the Cap and the Kongs.

Maybe.

This was all I held onto, even as the sixth round blurred into the seventh, and I started to not quite being able to catch my breath. My whole lower abdomen was aching, I was pretty sure they had started bleeding again, and it was hurting worse than in the middle of my Coach's half-an-hour abs sets. My hits were getting sloppy, the whip not quite slamming Moblin back with the same strength they had before, and I was finding myself lashing out more with punches and knees and elbows as my defense slipped and the Moblin were able to get closer. My mouth tasted of blood, and I had nicked my head on the inside of the suit just enough so that I was having trouble seeing as it trickled into my eyes.

Worst off, I kept laughing sardonically. It was really not helping with my whole breathing issue, but I just kept finding things amusing with the whole situation. Wolf seemed more frustrated than my laughter rather than my persistence, but I wasn't naïve enough to think that I could take him, even as he had to call more Moblin in from the other room. He wasn't a smasher, nor did he have only one eye, for nothing.

Of course, I was inexperienced. Even though I had something, a goal, to fight for, even though I could take the Moblin in the portions of twelve Wolf threw at me, I was going to slip up sometime. It was on the ninth round, just as the sun started filtering through the open windows high in the room walls, that exhaustion took me down. I waited too long to drive the initial wave of Moblins back with the plasma whip, and when I did it was sloppy and lacking any real power behind it. They hit me good, and I never really got my feet under me after that. I took roughly eight of them down, but never recovering, and it ended with my helmeted head shoved roughly into the ground with the tip of a hardened spear pressed to the sensitive metal plating of my neck.

There was a long silence—I think the Moblin were warily trying to decide if they'd actually gotten me—while I just breathed heavily into the mask, closing my other eye after one had been forced closed by the cut above my eye. Finally, scaly hands scrambled at my metallic shoulder, heaving and pulling until they managed to pull me onto my knees, to which I rebegan my weary sort of laughter.

Oh, the _freaking _irony.

Wolf, who had leaned back in his throne again, raised his un-eyepatched brow at me, curling his paws together in what could only be classic villain style. "Care to share with the class?"

"You have _no_ idea," I wheezed, grinning stupidly. "No _freaking _idea. You have no idea what's to come." A flash of clashing ships, one exploding and diving far into the ocean below, and surge of rainbow fluorescent lights and flashing wings, explosions of purple, white, and black— "No _idea," _ I repeated, swaying forward. "And now that I'm here, _now _that I've messed up the story, there's no telling if there's even a world to rule at the end of this. You just… _don't get it._"

There was a long silence.

"Okay," Wolf said, rolling his good eye. "That made absolutely _no _sense. Someone please kill her, as while that was entertaining, I don't think she's ready to give up the suit. Put her in trophy mode for a few days, and let's see how compliant she is after that."

Okay, wow. My first attempt at dramatically foreshadowing the future had just been completely shot down. I glared at Wolf with one eye of my own. "Not cool, bro."

And, that, as the Moblin pressing the spear to my neck drew back his arm to stab and effectively impale me through the destroyed plates of my metal neck, was when the cavalry arrived.

I never heard the actual attack cry—I was too busy trying not to pass out—but I'm sure it was badass and all other sorts of stuff that were typical along with this particular character. All I really felt was the explosion, then the sudden attack of light and sound and heat, heat, heat washing up over my back. I half turned, smacking the half roasted Moblin's spear away from my neck as I did. Flames were licking up the really-poor structural design choice of wood, anywhere and everywhere and _growing. _

There was another explosion, one that I finally saw originated from the open door frames' entrance, spilling even more fire into the wooden floors which quickly caught and spread. The more intelligent of the Moblin fled, while the less-so were quickly burned alive as beam of flames hurled around in a flamethrower like motion, dousing the already singed and black walls. Their origin?

I blearily squinted behind the blood at the shape. Was that a…? Was that a _Charizard?_

Then a girl, maybe twenty, sauntered up to the said Charizard, tall, a glowing silhouette with hair so red it looked aflame, and scratched the smug looking Charizard under the neck, who leaned into her touch. "Good, girl," she said, voice muffled and faraway sounding.

I must've zoned out for a second, time-lapsing in both exhaustion and adrenaline, because the next thing I knew the girl was at my side, attempting to hoist my two-hundred pound armored body with her what seemed to be perfectly manicured red nails. "Up you go," she said, voice low and firm, and I struggled off my knees and into a slightly hunched over but technically upright position. "C'mon, Sam, you got this."

I stumbled once, before catching my balance, the flames mysterious absent around my feet. I whirled around, rather unsteadily, to shoot one last glance at Wolf. He was absent from his chair, instead having leapt to his feet and glaring at me with a deadly looking ray-gun brandished in our general direction.

Not thinking twice, I hooked the girl around the neck with the crook of my arm, spinning us sideways as Wolf fired. The shot sailed harmlessly past, hitting the aflame walls. I glanced up, a barely spared gesture, noticing how the ceilings groaned in protest at their weakening limbs and the constant barrage of the flames.

Time to get out.

But of course, we still had Wolf to deal with—a smasher worthy of the name.

I nearly bent over backwards to dodge the attack of deadly steel claws, spinning and smacking the arm away with the free arm-cannon. The redhead girl whirled around, giving a shout with a toss of her hand. A dog-like creature with flaming fur—something I recognized to be a Flareon—leapt to life, giving an animalistic snarl as it crunched onto Wolf's arm. There was a howl, the huge and mind-dulling roar of the flames, and everything spun once in the fiery room as the short brawl turned in our favor as I swung and the pokémon lunged.

Wolf leapt back as the floor above gave a final scream, desperate to be heard as the flame ate out its insides and started to crumble. Wolf lunged back, holding a now tooth-marked arm to his chest as he retreated—obviously realizing he was outnumbered in his own, falling, palace. He turned and ran, feet flying over the simmering floors and in vengeance I lowered the arm cannon, last missile locked into place and ready to shoot a shot that would aim to kill and not miss. He had a trophy mode anyways, right?

Then I looked up.

Vengeance, or to wait for an opportunity that probably would never come?

BOOOOOOOOOM! I lifted the arm-cannon straight up vertical over my head as a flaming mass of ceiling collapsed and fell straight for the two people (and pokémon) below it. I fired, huge missile leaving the cannon and absolutely _destroying _the pillar in an explosion of wooden shards, light, and sounds. I ducked, shielding an arm over my head and half leaning over the girl beside me, recognizing her as an ally that was probably a lot more vulnerable than I was at the moment.

The remains of the pillar shattered violently upon hitting the floor, and I sagged in relief as none of them came close to hitting either of us. I glanced over my shoulder, watching the last bit of furry gray disappearing around a flaming corner with a surprising lack of caring. Honestly, at the moment, I was just happy to be rid of the villain and the troubles he brought. Bruce was safe, R.O.B. had sent rescue, and now… now, finally, I could rest in peace.

Literally.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

For those of you who don't know much about pokémon, here's the general gist—pokémon are animal like creatures that each have certain moves and abilities (usually both the specific pokémon and its moveset falling under the category of some sort of element or of actual physical or mental nature) that they use to attack and defend themselves against their fellow pokémon. As a pokémon wins more fights against its peers, winning consisting of beating the other into unconsciousness (as brutal as that sounds), it becomes stronger and more powerful than the others. However, humans, like this girl here, can use little round ball-like machines called pokéballs to in a sense _capture_ these pokémon, though there are more details and complications that I won't go into. Once captured, the pokémon usually listens to its master should that master command its respect, love, or fear. The pokémon trainers usually battle other pokémon trainers with their pokémon in a way similar to sports to help themselves and/or their pokémon grow stronger. Now, as horrible and gruesome sounding as this seems, the final fact is that pokémon actually seem to _enjoy _and permit being caught by suitable humans and trained to their maximum potential. Pokémon capturing and training is deemed as normal in the regions of its origin.

A Charizard, like the one here that I was currently staring at in half bewilderment, half _okay-can-my-life-get-any-stranger-right-now?_ was a pokémon. A powerful one. One that, I believe, was used by the pokémon trainer character of brawl. However, last time I checked, that kid looked both younger than this girl and, ah, _not a girl._ And significantly less… red. However she was quite obviously some sort of trainer, with a belt lined with four tiny pokémon balls (used to hold and store the pokémon in small pocket size—don't think about it too much, you'll just get confused), and had used said pokémon to attack the Moblin guards and free me and Pit (I'm getting to him). Therefore, chances were, she was most likely a friendly.

I later learned that this girl, who I mentally deemed Red, had been sent by a very-low on power R.O.B. and a spazzing out and generally displeased Pikachu on a rescue mission to the desert to find a very lost and very in trouble Samus Aran and Pit of Skyworld. I would learn _why _in a bit it was this girl in particular, as well as how she had got there so quick, but all that mattered right now was the fact that the tower was burning down around us and I really could not get my feet under me.

I also decided as a side-note, that even though Red had probably just saved this life, I did not like this girl. She was _not_ letting me pass out. It was quite annoying.

"Don't you dare," Red said warningly, pulling on my arm as I threatened to topple over right there. "I can't carry you, and this building's coming down. I—" she broke off into a coughing fit, obviously less as one-with-the-fire than I had originally thought, pulling again on my shoulder. "Come, _ON_, _Sam! _My grandmother could do better than the effort you're putting forth right now! Time to GO."

I rolled my eyes inside the suit but managed to find it in me somewhere to unsteadily prop myself up and forwardly moving. It didn't last very long, myself just mostly stumbling forward a few feet on legs that wouldn't seem to work and dizziness that wouldn't quite even out. After what seemed like ages later, Red grabbed my arm again, giving a short shout of, "ARCHIE!" over her shoulder.

I expected Archie to be some guy, maybe another pokémon trainer?

I was not expecting a larger than life, and a heck of a lot larger than me, Arcanine to come bounding through the open doors.

Now, let me just explain to you what an Arcanine is. First off, they're huge. Think of a tiger-furred Siberian husky, about… eh… six or seven times bigger than your average Lassie. Huge. Arcanine have huge cream colored manes that follow their neck and head and orange and black stripped fur following all the way down their back. The soft and really thick fur looked _glowing _in the flames, the fire-type seemingly unconcerned with the flames around him (or her), rolling to a stop at his/her trainer's feet. I'd seen pictures of _drawings of_ this rather famous pokémon, but I was not prepared for this larger than life, appropriately titled legendary pokémon to come to a stop inches away from me, look me in the eyes, and shake itself with a growl near a roar.

"Oh," I said eloquently.

"_'Oh'_ is right," Red snapped, nudging me around towards the side of the pokémon. "Now get on. Archie—take her _out_ of here, right now."

"Asdlkf'l;jkdjh," I blurgeled, as it was an appropriate term to the sound I made, turning away from the pokémon and over towards where I could still see Pit (I instantly felt guilty for forgetting about him, but I _was_ kind of busy). The flames and smoke were thick, the girl beside me coughing violently (as I had turned off the filtration system of the suit early on and probably had about a minutes worth of clean air left).

"I'll get him," the redhead said, pushing me towards the pokémon, "just GO."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I really didn't get much say in the matter after that, as Archie reached down with his huge freaking _head, _wrapping his jaw around my shoulder and bodily throwing me onto his back as if I weighed about fifty pounds instead of the two-hundred some I weighed now. It was rather nauseating, as I flipped over his head and onto his back due to the obviously practiced throw. I swayed in the fur, reaching out and blindly clutching at the mannish fur as the world stopped spinning. Almost instantly, the Arcanine took off, paws thumping almost silently against the roar of the flames.

It was different than riding a horse. First off, it was a heck of a lot more fluffy, as after I ran out of air in the suit I had to switch the filtration systems back on and bury my helmeted face deep in that creamy fluffy mane so I wouldn't breathe in too much smoke. Bruce was going to have some serious competition in the cute and fluffy department. Second off, it was a lot _faster_ and smoother than I had ever gone on a horse before. Archie's paws were smooth and fast, finding easy purchase in the wooden floorboards that _weren't_ burning, and he was level and low to the ground as he sped along at lightning speeds. The ride was not as jarring or uncomfortable as I had predicted, and overall traveling by pokémon was really getting good ratings in my book. I might have to add another hand to the things I like about this world.

We sped through the collapsing palace, Archie taking the lead (obviously) and the initiative to find the best way out. I was mostly just trying to hang on for most of the ride, because as the ride was smooth, that didn't mean there were any less sudden turns or stops. However, I was starting to see the obvious design flaw in a building made out of wood—these Moblin really weren't the brightest crayons in the box— as I noticed the various and increasing amount of fire pokémon, some I didn't even recognize, fleeing the scenes from various corners and hallways of the palace with far too smug looks on their face as Archie and I struggled to find a way out that wasn't completely on fire.

At last we reached the entrance of the palace, the same one I had entered through with Pit hoisted over my shoulder what felt like ages ago. My stomach lurched and I resisted the urge to squeak—_come on, girl, you've freefallen more this last week than most people have in their life, you can take a little jump_—as Archie vaulted straight over the staircase's banister and onto the floor a few dozen feet away from the entrance. Archie powered forward and I held on tight, waiting for the complicated plot-twist that was sure to arrive _any_ _second now—_

Archie slid, paws scrambling for purchase on the wooden floors as the archway above the huge door gave a sudden groan, barely managing to catch his huge tiger claws on the wooden floors and stop before the flaming wooden archway collapsed directly in front of the door.

"There it is!" I said unhappily, as Archie reeled back, struggling for a better grip with my one hand. Because being escaping from a burning tower wasn't dramatic enough, there had to be complications that arose and trapped you inside and effectively sent you off on a search for a new exit before the whole thing collapsed and you _died_.

Now, I, of course, was used to this. Plot complications, sudden twists, far too complicated escape scenes? I was a pro at all this by now, and I turned in my seat, looking for a better way out. Maybe a window, or access to the rooftop that we would have to jump from—?

Thankfully, Archie did not take the author's crap about dramatics and promptly hyper-beamed the flaming wreckage, blasting it to shreds and effectively recreating the door.

Archie became my new favorite that day.

We raced out of the burning building, myself hanging onto dear life as Archie cleared the area and the first sand-dune at speed that would make a the best race-horses of my day look like pathetically unbalanced foals. He spun around, kicking up sand and myself unsteadily slipping down his side, to face the collapsing palace, sitting calmly in the glowing sand. I patted him on the shoulder as I staggered away, locking my knees and forcing myself to remain upright to watch the building burn as well and to anxiously attempt to scan for life-signs with the little power I had left.

Whether the suit was malfunctioning, completely dead, or the heat given off by the fire gave off too much interference for the suit to pick up life-signs, all I could see on the screen was one big mass of dimming light, nothing brighter than the rest, all telling me that the lifesigns of my captor and his minions, my rescuer and her minions, and Pit were all either masked or dead.

The building completely collapsed, and I shot back up to my feet (not even realizing I had sat down) with eyes nearly popping out of my skull. The palace was caving in on itself, the Russian style domes crumbling as their support vanished and bringing down the walls around it in a mass of fire and heat. I turned the thermal readings off, searching with my own eyes anxiously for something—because even with a trophy, could you really survive _that?_

Suddenly, a blurring shadow shot up from the flames, moving so fast my eyes could barely follow, and_ swooshed_ across the sunrisen sky, wings snapping out to slow down its momentum as it saw Archie and I gaping up at it from the sand just a few hundred feet away. The Pidgeot (basically a really, really big brown and gold pigeon) gave a few strong strokes of his wings as he descended, finally close enough that I could see Red hugging onto a still comatose Pit riding on her pokémon's back.

I really, really, really was liking these huge fluffy things.

The girl slid from the Pidgeot's back with a toss of her red hair, giving the flying-type a rewarding pat on the head as she did so, leaving Pit on the pokémon's back. She stopped a few feet in front of me, crossing her arms.

"Is he—?" I started.

"Alive?" Red finished. "Mostly. Bad concussion, but I think he'll be fine."

"Ah," I said, strangely relieved. "Good."

She turned her narrowed blue eyes on me, perusing her lips and giving me an up and down glance. "You're shorter than I remember," she said. "Also, you're bleeding."

I looked down at the armor, at the long scratch marks that lined the thinning plating. Oh. Yes. Apparently I was.

"Huh," I said, baffled, before turning my head back up to look at her.

Red uncrossed her arms, eyes flickering towards Archie just for the briefest of moments. "You're not Samus, are you?"

"Nope," I said, still rather dazed.

Another long silence went by, before— "You're going to pass out now, aren't you?" Red asked me.

"Yep," I said, and that was about as far as I got before my knees hit the ground and everything swirled to black.

* * *

**Aw. Poor them just can't get a break. **

**And thus, the last main-character of the story has been introduced. She's heartless. And awesome. And cold. And so badass. And-**

**UP AND COMING?! **

_"What's my name?" The girl asked suddenly._

_"What?" I broke off, looking over towards her. Red was leaning back in her chair, looking at me with unforgiving eyes and crossed arms._

_"What's my name?" she repeated. "If this is all a video-game, then you should know my name."_

_Crap._

**The next few chapters are going to be a bit more dialog and character development rather than action. Don't worry though. The action will come. xD It's freaking Brawl. Hope you enjoyed!**

***salutes***

-Fleet


	14. Wait for the Cheeseburger

Waking up in a strange an unfamiliar place was not one of the things I wanted to do before I died. Honestly, come _on. _It was cliché, a little bit freaky, and _where the actual fudge did my zero-suit go, because I swear to God if I wake up in a new world and it's not my own, heads are going to roll_ was my first thought of many to come hurtling in at whirlwind speeds.

I slowly blinked, eyes feeling heavy and sated with sleep—something that was both familiar and foreign in more ways than one. The ceiling was tiled and smooth, white and crisp, not giving me anything to grab onto. In fact, I actually did a mini-freak out, flailing at the perfect canvas and getting tangled in the smooth bed-sheets when I thought the white was actual endless expanses of clouds or nothingness or heaven or whatever else the afterlife was supposed to be like. Breathing heavily, I peered around, eyes wide, taking in the room.

It was a bedroom, the bed underneath me perfect and soft, the sheets smooth and a light gray blue. Based on the perfectly made sheets a few feet away in the Queen sized bed, I hadn't been moving much in my… sleep, nor were these sheets anything like my own bed at home in their perfection. A window to the left was framed by soft lacey and white curtains, light filtering through the clear panes and telling me instantly that it was sometime… during the day. I couldn't see the outside due to the curtains, nor where the sun was rising, and the wooden bedside table to my left didn't have any clocks.

The room was on the bigger spectrum of a medium sized room, maybe about twenty feet wide and twenty-five feet long. The walls were painted a silvery-gray, and two white doors lined the empty walls along with the window, the closest across from me to the left and the other in front of me and slightly to the left. Both were closed, but neither appeared locked, and I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts into something intelligible.

Right. Zero-suit. I scrambled to push the sheets aside, throwing them off my previously pleasantly warm and now unpleasantly groaning in soreness and pain. I was wearing a plain gray shirt and what felt and looked like black sweat pants. The shirt was a little too big and the pants a little too small, but all I was currently processing was _okay, new clothes, dear god please not another game change, where's Bruce, and who the heck took my zero-suit and put this thing on?_

Then there was the pain. I winced, but it was more of a dull ache across my abs than anything, and slowly, tentatively, I lifted the gray V-neck, blinking slowly at the perfectly aligned white-bandages (as opposed to my sloppy and anything but medically sound) that covered me from the waist to about half-way up my rib-cage. Okay. Um. Yes, that was nice, thank you mysterious unnamed doctors, but _where the fudge is my zero-suit and the special icy rock that I had in it and Bruce and Pit or even that Red chick and her fluffy Arcanine and please don't—_

Then, of course, the door opened.

Red stepped in, raising an eyebrow at me as I failed to refrain my sagging in relief against the wooden headboard of the bed. Thank _God. _I was totally not ready for another reality change. I crossed my legs Indian style, opening and closing my mouth at the girl as she moved over to a desk on the far side of the room, grabbed a chair, spun it around backwards and slung herself over it, head propped up on her hands slung across the back. I failed to find the words, really beyond them, remembering with a flash how awkward of a time I had decided to, ah, leave off, finally deciding I was done with gaping and just staring, waiting for the girl to say something.

Finally, the girl shook her head with a brief raise of her brow, sighing. "Your name is Brittney," she started, flicking her red-hair over her shoulder. "You're fifteen years and eleven months old—the doctors couldn't quite get a day on you—have a height of 5'5, weigh roughly a hundred and fifteen pounds as of this moment—slightly underweight, probably due to your circumstance—have type O blood and you have twenty-four twenty vision, which we fixed for you, by the way."

I blinked, reaching up to touch the edge of my eye, closing them and searching for the far over-due for a change contacts I'd been working with for the past week. They were gone.

"Your lungs show slight strain, possibly due to very mild asthma," the girl continued, looking down at a small sheet of paper she had brought in with you, "which we _also_ fixed for you, have one small old scar in the center of your forehead, not including the ones you've just acquired for yourself over what appears to be the past week and you are apparently related to the small, underweight, Pikachu R.O.B. brought with him approximately four and a half days ago to the edge of our force-field. Your natural hair-color right now is dark-blonde or light brown, and your eyes somewhere between grey and blue." Red paused taking a deep breath, not looking up from the paper. "You are also on not a single file in all available files from Nintendo Central, all the Pokémon Regions, Dreamworld, the Mushroom Kingdom, and even the barest of files we have from Skyworld, Hyrule, and even friggen Yoshi Island."

The girl lifted her piercing blue eyes up towards me for the first time, tossing the manila file up onto the bed without an apparent care for what I saw or did with it. It spilled onto bed-spread, a single, bare minimum sheet with apparently all the information the redhead had just listed out, along with a few pictures from the security cameras of the compound. I reached forward, taking one off the sheets and staring at it. It was one of me, way back when in the zero-suit, about to take out the R.O.B. whose camera eyes had taken the photo with a level plasma-gun.

I flicked up my eyes up, half-heartedly meeting the eyes of the girl from where she watched me on the chair with an expectant gaze. "What I would like to know," she said, cocking her head to the right like a curious bird, "is _why_?"

I paused, thinking for a moment as I carefully put the photo down on the bed and slipping it inside the folder. "Pit's okay then?" I asked, clearing my throat after the question came out cracked and rough from misuse. Pit was—as far as I could remember—the only one besides R.O.B. that knew my name. It could've just as easily been R.O.B. to tell them, but the girl hadn't known I wasn't Samus upon arriving, so my best hope was on Pit.

The girl glared at me, obviously smart enough to know that I was avoiding the question. "He's fine," she said simply, not offering any details.

"Then he told you what I told him?" I asked, meaning for it to come out less of a question and more of a fact.

"Pit refused to complete the debriefing until you woke back up," the girl said stiffly. "He did not offer up any information on who you or the Pikachu was except for your names."

I stared at her. "Really?" I asked, voice expressionless, not quite sure how to feel.

"Really," Red replied dryly.

I snorted, unable to hold back the smile that pulled at the corner of my lips that threatened to turn into a full on grin. Mary-Sue. Loyalty to a person he barely knew. That—that was—

—really nice.

"That sounds like him," I smiled, and I was surprised to find one (obviously unwelcome on her stoic face) tugging at the edges of Red's hard face.

"It does," she agreed, before the smile was gone and replaced by something a lot colder. "But you're avoiding the question."

I nodded, not denying it. "Is Bruce—the—the Pikachu that came along with R.O.B—okay? He's safe?"

Red nodded, a bit softer than it had been before. "He's fine. He—" she stopped abruptly, obviously having slipped up in her mean-cop demeanor, wincing, "—he enjoys hanging out with Archie," she finished, obviously deciding it not worth it to try and cover up her mistake.

Some of the tension I'd held in my shoulders up to this point dissipated. _Check, check, check._ "Can I see—?" I started.

"No," the girl's edge returned narrowing her eyes. "You answer my questions first. Pit's fine, the Pikachu's fine, the robot's fine—hey, even Falcon and DK were fine after we picked them up yesterday. Everyone's doing great, shockingly. So, now, you tell me who you _are_ and why you're _here._"

I titled my head to the side, almost nervously. "You're not going to believe me," I told her, almost in a warning.

"If there's one thing I've learned since coming here," Red locked her arms on the chair, leaning back in a stretch, "it's the ones that think you'll think they're crazy who are actually not."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Fourteen.  
**_  
Be strong. There's a cheeseburger waiting for you at the end of the road._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"And then Wolf decided he was going to make me dance," I said, nearing the end of the story. "And I did—for a while—I was holding on to the hope that R.O.B. would send help and I drew it out, taking my time, really digging my feet in. And it worked. You guys showed up a ways after, and you know the rest."

Red sat back in her chair, slow and deliberate, just staring at me. I became increasingly uncomfortable, shifting in her hard and unyielding gaze. "Well?" I asked finally, unable to really take the critical stare anymore.

Finally, the girl leaned forward, reaching into her green cargo pants pocket, hand curling around something. "I believe almost your entire story," Red said neutrally, and I didn't know whether to feel incredibly relieved, or incredibly disappointed. "The only thing off, the only thing really off, is _this_."

And the girl raised her hand, and between her thumb and her index finger was the glinting, glimmering, and beautiful icy rock I had found ages ago, way back in the beginning by the pond.

"I knew that would be an important plot-key element later on," I mumbled, staring at it. "Didn't I tell you about it? I thought I mentioned this in my story."

"Oh, you did," Red agreed with a nodding of her head. She tossed it, myself scrambling but was surprisingly able to snatch it with my left hand. "I just don't believe you. Have you been looking for this since you woke up?"

"Yes," I admitted, wrapping my hand around it. "It's something familiar. …Thank you."

"They—" the girl continued, before correcting herself, "they being the very few doctors who Master Hand actually managed to convince to stick around—found it on you when they were fixing you up."

"Thank you," I repeated.

Red gave me a long look. "…you're welcome. I've been studying it. It looks Hylian, as far as I can tell. I've found a few myths on what it might be—and I can only imagine where the heck you found it. Did you steal it from Link? Or Zelda? I wouldn't mind as much if you stole it from Ganondorf—"

"Whoa, wait!" I cried, interrupting, "I didn't steal it!"

"Then where'd you get it?" Red asked, lowering her gaze back towards me.

"I found it."

Red laughed, but it was a completely humorless sound. "No, really," she said, giving me a look. "Where'd you get it?"

"I already told you!" I protested. "When… when I first woke up here… in the middle of the forest on floating island… near a little lagoon… I found it right next to me."

The girl stared at me, shaking her head. "That's—no—do you know what this is?

"No…" I said slowly, really, really wishing I had done some more research. "Should I?"

"This is a… well, the closest translation comes to a 'Chance-Stone,'" Red told me. "It's legend. There have been only five known to be in existence. Very sacred. Very powerful. Very magical—and very _Hylian_. You were on the floating island of the R.O.B—one of the most _technologically_ advanced creatures in all of _Nintendo_. Moreover, most of the magic in this stone has already been used up. Do you understand why I'm a bit suspicious here?"

Okay, now that I knew what it _was, _I could see what she was getting at. "…yes," I admitted.

"And you're still going to stick to your story about just happening to find it?" The girl pressed.

"Everything I told you was true," I insisted, even as ran through my options of breaking past her and to the door or window. "It's hard to believe, I know, and—"

"What's my name?" The girl asked suddenly.

"What?" I broke off, looking over towards her. Red was leaning back in her chair, looking at me with unforgiving eyes and crossed arms.

"What's my name?" she repeated. "If this is all a video-game, then you should know my name."

Crap.

"I, uh," I blanked, scrambling for guesses. How do you go about telling a character—a fiery one, no doubt—that they weren't important or significant enough to be considered a character in a video game?

"Well?" Red asked, lifting one eyebrow. It was very menacing.

"I…" I broke off with a sigh, "…J don't know. You weren't a main character in the game, or a secondary one I remember from all the trophies."

The redhead simply sat for a long moment, staring at me with a completely neutral expression, leaning forward to prop her head on her hands. Her eyes flicked over my face, looking, searching, studying, and finally—

—a laugh. I froze, not quite sure what to do with that as the girl leaned backwards again, an amused smile breaking her face and making her look less like a scary demon ginger with no soul, and more like a twenty-year old, rather nice looking, redhead.

"Um," I said, not quite sure how to respond to that, as the girl cleared her throat, still smiling, and cocking her head at me. "Did I… am I—?"

"You," she said, interjecting and pointing one red-nailed finger at me, "are either the best liar I have ever met, or are telling the truth."

"I'm not a very good liar," I said instantly—and it was true—going with it.

Red tipped her head at me again, but her features were definitely softer. "You fooled Pit for what? A few days?"

"As much as I like the guy," I admitted with a slight wince, "Pit… Pit seems like the type to… not think twice about subtle things."

"Yeah, he's pretty gullible, if that's what you're getting at," Red said with a small smile, saying exactly what word I'd been avoiding in my description. "He's gotten better though, if you'd believe me. He finally stopped falling into the same prank-trap every single time a few weeks ago."

I grinned, easily able to imagine that. Maybe he was a little less of a Mary-Sue than I'd originally thought. "So… you believe me?"

"I'm leaning towards it," the girl admitted. "Very few people have lied to my face and gotten away with it, and Pit _is _pretty gullible. However, the only _real_ reason I believe you as of right now is because of _that."_

I looked down at the said Chance-Stone in my hand (what Red was pointing at). "Without that stone," Red continued, "it'd be hard to explain why you've sudden crossed realities. The only thing that could do that is some technology currently out of our reach, and Magic. Really, really strong magic."

"There's no real magic in my world," I told her, tossing the stone up and catching it flat in the palm of my other hand.

The girl shrugged. "How sad for you then."

Wow. Okay. That was suddenly very depressing. I looked down, uncomfortable.

"...Anyways," Red said after a brief moment, obviously sensing the gap. "When we get more together—I'm going to have to talk it over with the Star Fox group and R.O.B.—see what they know what technologically could've caused this. Then I'll drill Zelda and Ganondorf for good measure." She paused, before her eyes softened in the slightest. "Besides. You're just a kid."

"AM NOT," I jerked my head up in sudden irritation, my incentive to remain in the conversation restored. "I am fifteen. Almost sixteen, actually."

"And I am Nineteen," the redhead countered. "Legal Adult in all parts of Nintendo. Therefore, you are a kid."

"Well," I said, giving her an unheated glare of defiance, "who are you anyways, Ms. Legal Adult?"

"They really didn't mention me?" The girl asked, shaking her head. "I'm not surprised—that's another reason why I believe you. You would know my name, not that I'm being arrogant but I am pretty famous here, if you came from this world—but my role in Smash isn't that well known."

"Are you from Melee?" I asked, uncertain. "I knew there was a red-head from Melee, but I thought that was Roy…"

"Figures—" Red scoffed. "They _wouldn't_ mention me."

"Um, no?" I shrugged, half apologetically. "Maybe I haven't unlocked that trophy yet."

"My name is Noel Hoyle," she said simply. "I train the assist pokémon for the brawls."

"Oh," I processed that for a second, before it really sunk in. "_Oh! _I always wondered about that. I thought maybe… Red?—trained them, but then they wouldn't attack him or his pokémon either."

Noel gave a slow growing smirk, obviously amused. "Red? You mean Charlie?"

"Charlie?" I echoed. "I always wondered what his real name was. They—they as in the Nintendo producing company—never told us. Everyone calls him Red—or the pokémon trainer."

"Nah, his name is Charlie," Noel said with a wave of her hand. Then, as an afterthought, she added (though a bit fondly), "He's an idiot—and a kid. Like you."

I grumbled.

Shortly after, a nurse came in. Apparently, neither the door nor the windows were locked, and I was actually under pretty low surveillance. I didn't know whether to be at ease or insulted. The doctor was nice enough, after telling Noel to leave (who was apparently satisfied with her interrogation). She hooked me up to an IV (they had apparently removed it for the interrogation as not to freak me out too much) with three separate needles that I did not appreciate. The doctor was nice enough, if a little tired looking. She filled me in on my injuries, mostly just deep bruising, small cuts, things that scabbed over or they could easily fix with their high-tech futuristic technology specifically designed for battle wounds—it made a lot of sense, now that I thought about it. The only thing I was going to have to be careful about were Ridley's claw-marks, which were going to leave some faint scarring even if I didn't tear the wounds back open again. I would have to go to her to get new bandages daily, and finish the IV I was currently hooked up to before eating lots and lots of high-calorie food to get me back up to where I was before. That part I wasn't complaining about.

My prescription? Rest. Food. I'd apparently already gotten a blood transfusion, wow, that was a first, so now it was just up to my body to do the rest. Heal. Recover. I had quite a ride, a several new scars to show for it, but, hey, I was alive. Bruce was (apparently) alive. Pit was alive. Heck, even R.O.B. and Noel and her Archie were alive—even if I was still a little uncertain about them.

The doctor left, and, glued to my IV line, I fell asleep waiting for her to fetch my bro.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I ended up sleeping for another fourteen hours uninterrupted. Apparently, unconsciousness isn't as restful as actual sleep, and I was pretty bone-deep tired. I woke up alone, the IV line finished and gone, and I slipped out of bed onto barefeet silently.

I opened the door next to the bed to find a small but nice white-tiled bathroom equipped with the normal bathroom necessities. The shower I took probably lasted over a half-an-hour, most of it consisting of myself just sitting under the hot-spray until my skin turned red, savoring the feeling of being warm and clean and relatively healthy. Under the bandages, Ridley's claw-marks left wide scabbed over dark red marks down from near my heart to the lower parts of my stomach where the cuts were the deepest and more noticeable. I winced, trying to ignore them, and was mostly successful due to the fact that they didn't hurt much at all anymore, especially under the spray. Alien idealistic technology. Gotta love it.

I found the drawers and cabinets of the room stocked with clothes, most a too big for me, after drying off. I put some of it on anyways, finding a belt that pulled the jeans tight, and comfortable leather jacket that hid the looseness of the V-neck. The boots fit mostly fine, but, while on the search for socks, I found a drawer with two stacks folded zero-suits side by side—black and gray on top among other colors below. Apparently the light blue one I'd been wearing for the past week and a half was ruined beyond reasonable repair. Not that I wanted it back. I shut the drawer firmly with tight lips, grabbing the socks from the drawer below it. At least now I knew why all the clothes in the room were a few sizes too big.

I opened the door cautiously, just cracking it open to peer outside. The hallway was empty, lacking armed guards or trip-wires that marked my doom, and, after a few seconds, I mustered up my puny courage to step outside in search of solid food.

I got all of about three steps before promptly being tackled by a fluffy yellow fuzzball.

"Bruce!" I cried, too happy and relieved to see him to be irritated at the nice little shock I'd gotten upon his contact with my less protected by the top-of-the-line Kevlar like material of the zero-suit. Yes, in case you were wondering, I had finally figured out why I didn't die when the suit malfunctioned and zapped me when Ridley first attacked.

"Pika-piiiiii!" Bruce cried, scrambling for purchase atop my shoulder, pulling and probably ripping out a few hairs that I had let down.

I pulled him off, spinning around and holding him out in front of me at an arm's length, giving him a long look. "You're okay?" I asked, dead serious.

"Pika," Bruce replied, and I searched my memory to remember which one _pika_ meant and which one _chu_ meant. I couldn't quite remember, but judging by the bright look in his eyes, I assumed it meant yes.

"And they've been treating you okay?" I insisted.

"They've been good to him," Pit said, from behind me. "I've stuck by him and made sure they didn't try to put him in a pokéball or treat him like one of them."

I jumped, whirling around as I pulled Bruce close to my chest. Pit gave me a short grin, a foot or so away, and a slight wave. "How's it going?" He said.

I narrowed my eyes at him, giving him a once over, before looking up to meet his gaze. "You're taller than I remember," I accused.

Pit shrugged sheepishly. "And you're shorter."

It did make sense, in a way. I was by no means short, but the suit added an extra foot to my height. I was a few inches taller than Pit in the suit, and as I only took it off around him once to put on some bandages, I had never had a chance to compare our actual heights. Argh. "I thought… you'd be shorter," I finished lamely. I guess it made sense—the game size proportions of each character were so off at times that it just wasn't natural. I mean Pikachu was half of Samus's height during a Brawl and… my brain can't take it. I guess the game and reality had to meet somewhere in the middle, when Pit only at fourteen in the game was just as tall as Solid Snake or Captain Falcon. It also explained why everyone in this freaking world was so freaking tall. I could only imagine what the actual Cap compared to me in height if he was level with me in the suit.

I almost wanted the armor back.

Almost.

"I thought you'd be taller," Pit admitted, and I rolled my eyes.

"I can still whoop your butt," I said as a matter-of-factly, despite the fact that I could probably do no such thing, glancing down proudly at my bro. "Bruce and I are unstoppable."

"Pika-pika-pikachu," Bruce said, obviously translating to, _Ladies, please, you both know I could single-handedly kick both your arses. _As no one could speak pokémon, he was steadily ignored.

"Sure you can, Brittney," he said, patting me on the head from his annoying several inches taller. He did have four years of experience on me. "Now, do you want some food or not?"

My eyes flicked to the box in his hand, the smell wafting up even inside the thin white carton. "Is that—?" I started.

"A cheeseburger?" Pit asked, raising an eyebrow, almost teasing. "Why? Do you want it?"

"Give _meeeeeeeeeeeee_!" I demanded, lunging for the box. Pit moved it easily out of my reach, laughing something about needing to go meet Noel or something I didn't give two cents about, waving for the box futility for a few seconds before dropping back onto my heels, glaring at him so deadly serious it wasn't even funny.

"I will sic Bruce on you."

"Pika-piiiiiii." _(she would)_

"….cafeteria. There's a briefing you need to attend. There's lots of food there."

"Not even joking. So much pain."

"Pikachu, chu, piiiii." _(she's not kidding, bro)_

"Cafeteria first."

"I will personally remove both your arms from your body if I do not get this cheeseburger."

"Piii-pika-piii." _(I've heard that one before.)_

"I promise. There are even fries there."

"…if you lie, I will—"

"—hurt me?"

"Yes. Very much so."

"I have no doubt."

"Pika-pikachu." _(Me neither)._

"…can I at least eat the burger on the way?"

"You'll inhale it."

"That's the idea."

Laugh. "Okay, fine. You promise not to bolt?"

"As much as I don't like people—how do you even know this about me anyways?—I will attend if there is a cheeseburger or my stomach in my hands upon arrival. Bruce, you walk. I need to eat."

"Pika-pikacu-chu-chu-piii." _(I resent this.)_

"The remaining psychologists analyzed the video footage from the compound where you retrieved the suit and rescued your brother. They set up a physiological profile on you so that we could have some idea that you weren't crazy or a serial killer. They told me that a bribe would likely be the best way to get you to willingly attend a briefing that contained information on things you wouldn't like. I decided food would be a good choice in bribery."

"Hm. Well. Chick Fil A would've been better, but, for once, the head-doctors know what they're talking about."

"What?"

"Nevermind. Some place on Earth. If you ever come visit, I'll take you."

"Okay."

"Wait, what was this about information I wouldn't like?"

"You'll see. Eat your cheeseburger."

"Hm."

Silence.

"Hey. Pit."

"Yes?"

"Thanks."

* * *

**D'aw. xD Well, I'd always thought it was so weird that Pikachu and Ness and Lucas were like these huge disproportional creatures with huge heads and bodies way too small and I always laughed seeing them. But then I started thinking about how that would look like in reality-and, you know, the whole barbie analogy on how they wouldn't be even able to exist. So I figured reality had to meet them halfway, and with Pit and Pikachu and just ****_everyone _****with a general ****_largeness_**** in comparison to the more realistic looking characters would just be really really tall. xD And with Brittney in a suit that (I did some research makes you about a foot taller, the sudden difference would've been really ****_real _****when she finally came out of the suit.**

**Just a thought. xD **

**Next chapter I'll put up tomorrow! :3 We get to see more of R.O.B. as well as the first appearance of the ever mysterious Master Hand. :3**

**UP AND COMING?! **_"…congratulations," I told him, and my voice did _not _crack. "You've looked past all my crap and found a coward."_

***salutes***

_-Fleet_


	15. The Short Straw

The briefing wasn't actually too bad. Pit and Bruce and I headed off to the mess-hall, which was unsurprisingly empty except for one booth. Noel was waiting for us there, looking incredibly badass in a not skintight but _definitely_ a cat-suit and a belt equipped with six pokéballs. Even as she sipped on her milkshake. And, wow, she was tall. What was with it with everyone in this universe?

We sat down, and I inhaled another cheeseburger (having finished the original bribe on the way)—this time with the most delicious side of fries I'd ever had the pleasure to consume in my life.

I learned several things that long hour. First off, I learned the continents and nations of the planet of Nintendo. There was Hyrule, a pretty large independent nation, The Mushroom Kingdom, smaller, Dreamland, somewhere in between the two, and Central Nintendo—which was, wait for it, in the center of the planet with elements, species, and cultures from all around the planet. All of these had their own peninsulas and pretty much left the others alone. Then there were the pokémon regions: Kanto, Johto, Hoenn, Sinoh and Unova. Some of these were connected on the same land, but most were again, grouped together but on their own little Australia-like islands. Then, after _that_, there was Donkey Kong and Yoshi Island, both off the shores of Central Nintendo and near the Mushroom Kingdom. These were small islands, most left alone—except for the fruit trade that came from each. After that, all that remained was Skyworld, which very few people had the privilege ever to visit, and very few angels had ever traveled down from (Pit being one of the very few). As Skyworld was in the, ah, _sky_, they were left pretty much alone as well. Then, of course, there was the Lyat Sector in the next quadrant, Sega's section of the galaxy (where Snake and Sonic came from), as well as Captain Falcon, Olimar, and Samus's situation, but that was for a different time entirely.

Ahem. After _that_ geography lesson, I learned that the continent of Central Nintendo (the most urbanized continent out of all of them) had mostly already been evacuated. Several more bombs had gone off, all over the globe, steadily consuming land as it went. Melee Mansion became a sort of resistance camp from the inside of the most SubSpace Dominant continent in Nintendo. The Assists and staff from Brawl that managed to escape the original bomb mostly flocked here, back to Melee where many of them had been before. After the situation worsened, the majority of the staff left and even a few Assists and Melee fighters did as well. The ones that stayed to fight were protected by a large forcefield set up around the majority of the mansion and the land around it for half a square mile or so. Melee had sent out resistance armies and sabotage missions—mostly under Noel's direction, who had stepped up when no one else did. Melee was the sole reason that Central Nintendo hadn't been lost as of yet, and its defense and resistance were key. However, with the force-field in place, they'd had very little quick and easy contact with the outside world. Radio-waves stopped getting through, and scouts and messengers delivering by word of mouth were the only real information they got.

Noel drilled Pit, Bruce (when she could), and I for a while for information about the Subspace Bomb Factory—which we had destroyed. This was apparently a very good thing, even though the Subspace Army showed no signs of slowing. Even without the bombs, they were a force to be reckoned with.

After this, Noel mentioned that before the radio calls stopped getting through, they'd made contact with the Star Fox (a ship that Fox, Falco, and their team commanded that was currently in the area) and had received information on an entity called Tabuu.

"Oh!" I said, suddenly perking up and leaning forward from where I'd had my back to the booth. "I know him! He's, like, big and neon blue with butterfly wings. I think Sonic destroys the wings towards the end though…"

Pit, Noel, and even Bruce turned to look at me like I was crazy. I shrunk in my seat somewhat. "Um…" I shrugged apologetically, "my grasp of the plot of this game was very scattered. I only got bits and pieces from watching my friends play…and the stuff I did before all this. So my Intel might be… slightly… off…"

Noel gave me a piercing look, before she gave a slow nod. "No…" she said slowly, "actually… you may be right. Star Fox reported that their scans reflected massive energy readings, probably form some kind of high-intelligence life-form based on something that resembled brain wave activity—all coming from the center of the largest explosion. Master Hand has been doing some physic work and found a little more out about Tabuu."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," I started, giving her a long look. "Master Hand? He's _real?_"

Pit nodded at me. "Yes. He's the… _figure-head_ of Smash. He and his brother, Crazy Hand, they bring the tournaments together. The Nintendo Company calls the shots, but the Hands are responsible for the mansions and the brawls."

"Oh, well, in that case—" I sat back in the chair, giving him an exasperated look. "Let me just go about my business knowing suddenly that there are two all-powerful entities that put together tournaments where heroes go about beating each other up."

Noel gave me a sharp glance. "They are not all powerful, actually," she said coolly. "Crazy Hand is missing, and Master Hand has been compromised—captured."

Pit and I simultaneously shot up, with slight variations of, _"What?"_

"He's being communicating me telepathically and holographically—" Noel explained. "That's how I know you're not a fake," she gave me a stern look, "and how we've been gathering so much information on Tabuu. Master Hand has been giving me instructions with what little energy he has left."

"So, what, you were just drilling me for that hour for the heck of it?" I asked.

"Yes," Noel took a sip of her water. I glowered at her, taking a menacing sip of my own. She swallowed, before giving me another look. "And to check you out myself. By the way, Master Hand also wants to speak with you." She glanced at her watch. "Now, actually."

I choked on the water. "Uh, _what?"_

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Fifteen.  
**_  
You'll probably draw the short-straw more than once._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Noel and I entered a large office like room with high-ceilings lined with bookcases. Noel gave me all of about two seconds to take in the said room, before raising her perfectly arched eyebrows at me and left me alone, going out through the swinging double doors.

Leaving me alone.

In a creepy library-office-like-room.

All by myself.

Fan-freaking—

I jumped as the doors suddenly swung back open. A familiar _whrrrrrrrrrring_ sound of wheels turning on the floor made me flinch, and I turned with arms raised defensively to see R.O.B. It took me a second to remember that this particular R.O.B. was a friendly, and I slowly lowered my arms—rather sheepishly.

"Master Hand requested my presence as well," R.O.B. explained, after a long moment of me staring at him.

"Oh. Okay," I replied casually, full of eloquence. I wondered why R.O.B. was here. To make sure I didn't run? Or leave? Maybe he needed R.O.B. for something else entirely, like an accurate recounting of the event—with his robotic memory and all—

I turned, and promptly flipped out. Master Hand, _oh, wow, Master Hand, _had appeared suddenly, _floating_ a few feet above the desk promptly turning a few of my hairs gray at the completely uncalled for jump-scare.

R.O.B. didn't so much as flinch.

_"Welcome,"_ Master Hand said, and I couldn't help but compare his voice to Aslan from those Narnia Movies. It was uncanny. It wasn't quite a voice though—more of—a—sound, both in my head and in the air around me, vibrating, never changing in volume or pitch, even as the Hand moved away.

"Uh… hi," I stammered out, once my heart-beat had slowed from its previously dangerous levels. There was something a bit unnerving about a gigantic floating _hand_ bigger than you were floating a few yards away.

_"I've heard about you…"_ Master Hand… _said_, _"but I have had yet to actually see you. You, and your brother, have caused sufficient chaos in the Subspace Emissary_.

I snorted, knowing where this was going. "What? Did you expect me to be taller?"

_"Well, yes,"_ Master Hand admitted. _"But only because Samus's suit appeared to work—which would mean it was relatively unchanged—and Samus is about six-feet tall."_

_"_Not because I'm the complete opposite of what you would expect a warrior to look like, right?" I crossed my arms, giving him an _O, rly? _look.

_"On the contrary,"_ Master Hand seemed to shrug with a rolling of his humongous knuckles, _"I've seen many capable female warriors—and many more your size. Nana, one of the iceclimbers—who I think it a year younger than you—is about your height. She has done very well in Brawl. Can I ask why you're being so hostile?"_

"I'm not being hostile!" I insisted defensively.

_"And defensive?"_

I was silent for a moment, looking away. "…I'm just wondering when you're going to throw me in jail, that's all."

_"What for?"_ The hand asked, sounding amused.

"For stealing Samus or whatever it is you think I did!" I snapped. "When you found me, Samus was missing, I was wearing both her suits—and—"

_"Had killed Ridley, destroyed the Subspace Bomb Factory, and freed R.O.B.,"_ Master Hand replied evenly, cutting me off smoothly.

I thought about that for a second. "…okay, most of those were complete accidents," I admitted.

Master Hand sighed. _"You told us that you don't know what happened to Samus, but had an idea what to do—so you did it. I believe you. Why are you so determined to incriminate yourself?"_

I set my jaw, taking a step forward towards him. "Because I want to get my brother and I _home. _As much as I would love to join your guys' fight against this evil army and be some sort of hero—it's just _not_ going to happen. I've barely survived as it is. My understanding of games are that they get harder as they go along—I'm going to quit before I'm staring down at my brother's lifeless body and seconds away from joining him too."

_"I ask again,"_ the hand repeated, completely undiffered, _"why are you so determined to incriminate yourself?"_

"Okay. Okay," I said, after a long moment of staring him down, mind working in a whirl to string the dots together, giving the breathiest of laughs, "I see where this is going. This is some sort of reluctant hero storyline you got trying to go on," it was so obvious it was painful. I wrote all the time, I could see it and I wasn't going to fall for it. "Okay. Well, I want to incriminate myself because maybe I AM a criminal," I told him. "Maybe I _did_ kill Samus and grab her suit. I don't even know. I don't remember anything as to _how_ I got here, besides a portal opening up."

_"Or you want us to lock you up so you don't have to fight the future battles_," Master Hand noted.

There was a long, rather painful, quiet.

"…congratulations," I told him, and my voice did _not_ crack. "You've looked past all my crap and found a coward."

The Hand rolled, flexing his fingers as he turned to his books. _"No,"_ he said, voice a pitch softer than it had been before. _"I think it's a combination of all your different reasons—but most of all, I think you're scared, yes, to mess this all up for everyone. To make a mistake in battle, to drop the ball, and deal with more deaths caused by you than you can handle."_

"Why would I care?" I demanded of him, a hard, cold edge entering my voice. "You aren't even real. You're just a bunch of pixels that are building the circumstances allowing me to get home."

Master Hand paused, before slowly turning to look at me. _"You really believe that?"_ He asked

I swallowed hard. "...of course."

There was silence for a very long time.

Finally, _"There was once a battle for Nintendo,"_ Master Hand started, turning back to his books and shifting through them, looking, even as his body flickered and it was obvious he couldn't pick them up. _"Eleven of Nintendo's mightiest heroes joined together to fight a battle that they alone could not fight." _He paused. _"Yet those eleven were still not enough. So I searched the galaxy and found a twelfth. This warrior did not want to fight for this planet that was not even their own, and when I asked them why—they gave very similar reasons to your previous ones. Yet in the end, as the eleven fought the final battle without this warrior, when all seemed lost—she came and the power of the twelve warriors combined was enough to defeat this great evil and save the planet of Nintendo. Afterwards, Nintendo Company approached these heroes for a publicity games that would be good money. The heroes did not agree at first, but after I came to them and told them my thoughts, that these games were a display for all those to see what they would have to get through to take this planet, they decided to join—and the Smash Tournaments came to be."_

I quieted, listening. "Smash? Wasn't that the first game?" I asked, after he finished.

_"And the first tournament_," Master Hand agreed. _"After about a year of that, the game disbanded, and the twelfth warrior returned to the stars—only to return when another great battle was fought, in which the end result was Melee. "_

"And now…" I finished, "Brawl."

_"The Brawl tournaments were formed on their own. This battle that we are fighting has formed on its own. However, the twelfth warrior is missing. She has not come to fight for this planet,"_ The Hand paused, turning from the shelves to face directly towards me. _"I think she sent you in her place."_

"…Samus," I realized. I had known she had been in all of the games, but I hadn't made the connection in the story up until this point. "No. Why would she send me? I'm pretty much useless when it comes to throwing a punch—and you guys need warriors for this fight."

_"We don't know if she called you, sent for you—"_ Master Hand explained, _"we don't know if she needed for some reason to come to your world—and in consequence (for everything that travels through realities, something must be left in its place from the other side) brought you here. We don't have the answers. But something brought you here. Fate."_

"Fate?" I laughed, if a bit bitterly. "No. If anything—it was really bad luck on your part."

_"Bad luck that someone was brought who could give us the answers to the battle_?" Master Hand challenged, and it was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Ah. There it was. The pieces clicked together. "Oh. Okay. I see," I shook my head. "This, _this_ is why you wanted to talk to me. You want to tell you the future." I laughed again. "It all makes sense now."

_"R.O.B."_ Master Hand suddenly turned from me, facing the robot that had been silent nearly this entire time.

R.O.B. made a chirping sound, laser light atop his head flashing once.

_"You are aware of the other stories, correct?"_ Master Hand asked, sounding as if he already knew the answer.

_"I know everything you have disclosed to me, sir,"_ R.O.B. replied simply, _"and much more."_

_"Has anyone, meaning you, told her what happens to those who travel through realities_?" The Hand asked next.

_"I have not,"_ R.O.B. replied, and alarm bells started blaring off at full force in my head.

"Wait, what?" I asked sharply, head whipping back and forth between them both. "What happens to _what_? Is this some kind of masked threat?"

They both ignored me. _"I want you to run tests,"_ Master Hand told him _"You may also explain what is going on, but I want you to run tests in comparison to normal human DNA. The boy too—try and compare it to normal Pikachu DNA with potential variance for a human mind. I want you both back here in two days, same time."_

_"Yes, sir,"_ R.O.B. said, before turning without another word to roll out the room.

I turned to Master Hand, crossing my arms, irritated that he didn't have a face to read. _"Go with him," _Master Hand ordered.

"What sort of tests?" I pressed, not liking where this was going.

If a seemingly immortal floating hand with no face and a voice that seemed to come from nowhere could sound exasperated—Master Hand did. _"Just go with him. They will help you, and give me something to work with."_

I paused, considering it, before processing the end of the statement and nearly double-taking him. "Wait, work with?" I asked with my voice a bit panicked. R.O.B. returned, rolling up to me and reaching out with a mechanical arm, latching an unmoving claw around my jacket's arm and beginning to drag me from the room.

_"You said we were unlucky,"_ Master Hand explained. _"You said you couldn't fight. You said you were a coward. I disagree with all of those statements. We will begin training in two days. We will meet in the training center in two days. Understood?"_

R.O.B. dragged me from the room, pushing us both through the swinging double doors. They swung shut behind me. "Understood," I said dazedly to no one.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"So," I started, as we made our way down a hallway and towards a funky looking steel door. "These tests. Those stories. What _exactly_ are we doing here?"

_"I assure you,"_ R.O.B. said, completely unphased, _"the tests will be completely painless."_

I stopped dead, watching as R.O.B. rolled on, put off. Finally, when the shock receded, I moved forward after him, ducking my head with a quiet, "well, _that's _comforting."

R.O.B. stopped outside the steel door, rolling over to a passcode panel to its right. He pressed in the numbers—_4815_—and I noticed that he made no move to hide the code from me. Upon going through the door, we entered a large laboratory. It looked something straight out of the movies, with white walls and floors, metal tables and holograms and work stations and—_hey was that the power suit?_

I was right. The red and orange suit was standing at attention propped up against a metal rack, looking still a little beat up around the edges, as well as the arm cannon and helmet had been completely removed, but it looked significantly better than it had been before.

I turned to R.O.B., who had rolled across the room to retrieve some sort of drawer from a cabinet on the other side. "Hey!" I called, jerking my head over towards Samus's suit as he turned his head towards me. "What's the power suit doing here?"

_"It was damaged,"_ R.O.B. explained, turning with the drawer in hand and moving back over towards me. _"I started on repairs. Unfortunately, it will take a while. Samus was the only one who truly knew how the suit worked inside and out—and now that it's been… _altered_ in the slightest; it's only making my progress repairing it slower."_

"Altered…" I echoed, sitting down on one of the swirly rolling chairs. "How so?"

_"It is complicated to explain,"_ R.O.B. said unhelpfully. _"Perhaps I could teach you, as you are the wielder of the suit now."_

I thought about resisting the urge to spin the chair, before giving in and pushing off the metal table with my feet, sliding over and spinning to where R.O.B. had set the drawer. "First off—" I told him, "I do not _wield_ this suit. It's not mine. It's Samus's. Second off, it's probably way too complicated for me to understand."

_"Perhaps,"_ R.O.B. replied vaguely. _"We will see."_

"Can you _please_ tell me why everyone in this world is being _so freaking mysterious?" _ I gripped, letting my head thump back on the back of the chair.

_"You say that—"_ R.O.B. started sorting through the metal drawer, pulling some wires out and hooking them up to a small machine to the right of the table, _"but besides your basic name, age, your relation to your brother, and where you came from—you have told and shown us nothing about yourself side the fact that you are defensive, hostile, sarcastic, pessimistic, have a poor case of low confidence—"_

"Hm, well—" I interrupted, slightly hurt even though it was all true, "if you have told anyone that back home, they might think you were talking about my sister. Usually I am the sweet, kind, worries about everyone else kinda' kid. Sure, you can add low confidence and sarcastic to the list—that's always been there—but you guys have really brought out the worst in me."

_"I was not done,"_ R.O.B. replied patiently after waiting for me to finish.

"Oh, well, please—" I gave a mocking, flourish of my hand, bowing my head at him, "do continue."

_"—skeptical, forgetful, self-destructive, cold to your enemies—" _I nodded along with each one and even pointed a finger in kudos towards him at self-destructive.

"Ah, self-destructive," I nodded. "That one's new too."

_"—but you show a surprising amount of kindness and unfailing loyalty to those you have not deemed 'pixels',"_ R.O.B. finished.

"What?" I frowned at him. "Invalid argument. Everyone's a pixel here."

_"Not including, according to you, your brother,"_ R.O.B. pointed out. _"And you seem to display these traits to Pit as well."_

I thought about this for a moment. "Touché," I said, after processing. "But I'm just more trusting towards them. I know they can have my back so I won't fall. Plus Bruce is my brother."

R.O.B. tilted his head at me in what could only be exasperation. "—will you let me continue?"

I glowered at him, but didn't say anything.

_"You've also proven to be protective, selfless, brave, very intelligent, and possibly many more positive traits that I have not yet observed."_

I actually laughed at that one. Okay. Protective, sure. Selfless for selfish reasons, yes. Intelligent was questionable considering my decisions, but, brave? "Have you seen me?" I asked, raising my brow at him. "I'm the opposite of brave. I run from fights, not to them."

_"I have not witnessed this behavior," _R.O.B. told me.

_"_You kinda…" I waved my hand, "_missed_… those parts."

"Bravery is not running blindly into battle," R.O.B. said, sounding like he had quoted it from some book or movie.

"And I suppose that means bravery is running away from it?" I challenged.

_"My final prognosis,"_ R.O.B. made a chirping sound to cut me off, sounding very humanly exasperated, _"is that when in extreme situations, such as this one, you store your more positive traits deep down and enter a sort of survival mode in which protect yourself by lashing out at others by becoming defensive, hostile, sarcastic—"_

I flinched. "Yeah, yeah—you already said all that—just skip to the end."

R.O.B placed a tray on the table, the wires that he had connected to the machine before attached to some sort of thin metallic head-set. _"Put this on."_

"Not that far to the end," I said, furrowing my brow at him, annoyed.

_"Make sure that the extended black parts along circle match up with the center of your forehead and one on each temple,"_ R.O.B. ignored me. _"Also, wrap this,"_ he tapped towards a complicated looking arm-band, _"around your arm so I can monitor your heart-rate and blood-pressure among other things."_

I sighed dramatically, before doing as he asked. "And what exactly will this be accomplishing?"

_"I am going to test if your DNA has been alerted due to your entry/travels to this reality foreign to your human body,"_ R.O.B explained, which nearly went completely over my head.

"Of course it's going to be different," I scoffed. "I'm in a freaking video-game. I think I would have to be severely _altered_ if I was going to survive this at all."

_"That is not quite what I meant,"_ R.O.B. gave me a long look with his camera-eyes.

"I know," I replied, struggling with the arm-band before finding out it had an adjustable strap, not looking up.

R.O.B. was silent for a bit, simply staring at me, processing. _"…were you being sarcastic_?" He asked, finally.

"…kinda?" I looked up, giving him a weird look.

_"I have difficulties understanding sarcasm,"_ R.O.B. said after a moment. _"On the island, we R.O.B. speak only what we mean."_

"The island…" I repeated. "As in the floating island?"

_"Yes._"

"Okay. So, now I have a question," I started, slipping the head-set over my head and sighing as it fell nearly to my nose.

_"Go ahead,"_ R.O.B. replied, rolling away to the machine I was about to be connected to, out of sight. _"I'll do my best to answer it."_

I lifted the headset up with a finger, reaching around with my other hand in back to adjust the size. "Okay... One, why were the R.O.B., and you, fighting for the Subspace Army if you seem to be on the light-side?"

R.O.B was silent for a while, doing something to the back of the machine while I pulled the head-set's strap tight. _"Ganondorf came to me before the whole thing began," _he finally said, voice level, detached and metallic. _"He told me he that I was intelligent, and that I was in a powerful position among my people—which was true. I was, am, their leader. He told me that he was going to rule the world of Nintendo, and he said he had the plan to do it. He told me enough to convince me of how well thought out and deadly the plan was, but I initially refused. I believed the power of the Hands and the Smashers would easily be enough to defeat this plan without purchase. I went to Master Hand and told him of Ganondorf's plans, and he said he would act on it."_ R.O.B. paused. _"And then,"_ he said, after thinking for a long moment, _"both the Hands suddenly went missing. It showed me how powerful, and real, Ganondorf's plans were. He captured the uncapturable."_

I swung my feet in the chair, listening silently with a short wince. I could tell where this was going. "You made a choice," I said.

_"Ganondorf came to me again,"_ R.O.B. agreed, _"and I made a choice that I thought logical and best for my people. I thought that Ganondorf's plans would ultimately end with his rule and that my people could live on untouched once the war was past. But ultimately, my decision killed my people one by one until my decision cost everyone more than staying on the right side ever would have done. But backing out, when we were so vulnerable, was not an option. And then you and your brother arrived. We fought back until I could gather them all to wait for your ultimate success. So we could surrender to you."_

I'd killed a lot of R.O.B. More than I could remember clearly. "…I'm…" I started, uncomfortably looking down. "I'm sorry. I killed many of your people."

_"They were attacking you,"_ R.O.B. said simply. _"You have the argument of self-defense."_

"But I was malicious towards them," I shook my head. "I'm sorry. If I had known…"

_"—but you did not. You were ignorant, and therefore innocent."_ R.O.B. paused. _"Besides, if you are right, we are all just pixels."_

I resisted the urge to sink back into the swirly-chair.

"_Let us begin the tests,"_ R.O.B. said.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

I did the only thing I could think of to apologize.

"…No, seriously. If there's any other language I'm fluent in besides English, its sarcasm," I said seriously. A pause, and then I added a thoughtful afterthought of, "And Canadian."

R.O.B. looked at me with a tilted head. _"Was that sarcastic?"_

"No."

_"Was _that_ sarcastic?"_

I shook my head, amused. "No, geez. Listen. I can, like, say something and you have to determine whether I'm joking or not. The more you have of experience the better you'll be. Sarcasm lessons."

R.O.B. paused. _"I'll think about it._" He said eventually.

_Beep. Beep._

We both looked up at the sound of the high-pitched beeping. _"The tests are done,"_ R.O.B. said after a moment.

"That's it?" I asked skeptically, tearing off the headset and fluffing out my hair with a shake. "That was remarkably simple."

_"When someone transfers through realities_," R.O.B. explained, _"it's usually due to magic or powerful technology. It's happened before in the past, and each time the new reality is too much for that body to handle. The magic (and technology, after a few adjustments) usually alters the DNA of the person or object so it can exist in this one. Ontop of that, when Magic is involved, usually when a person or object is brought from another reality, it searches for specific parameters of that person or object. Usually, it's impossible to find an exact match, and the portals that open up to take the object or person can only open up in specific places. Magic usually never has enough power to find exactly what was asked of it near those portals, so it takes the closest match it can find and alters it to fit the parameters as best it can. Then there can be complications additionally that can arise, like limited power or conflicting instructions. Usually the alterations are positive."_

"Usually," I said slowly, already not liking the sound of this.

_"In the past, people traveling through realities have been able to do things that they could not do before. In one particular incident, a Dinad from an alternate reality became able to manipulate fire. However, the tests were simple,"_ R.O.B. continued simply, _"because your alterations obviously were not of a physical nature or anything particularly unusual,"_ I glared at him, _"so they must be due to something directly in your DNA to do with other things—such as your brain, which is what I see here. Your DNA in particular—"_

I narrowed my eyes down at the screen, at the tiny black letters and huge words I didn't understand, holding up a hand. "Wait," I threatened, "make sure you talk with words that I can actually understand, okay?"

_"Very well,"_ R.O.B. replied evenly. _"What the tests are showing here is that the DNA affecting your cerebrum…your brain, has been slightly altered."_

"Oh," I didn't quite know what to make of that. "Um. Well, only slightly right? That's good! What did it do?"

_"…I cannot quite tell from these results,"_ R.O.B. continued,_ "but it seems like you're able to use your brain in a higher form of efficiency than a normal human. My own observations from the past week, coupled with these, are suggesting something rather…_

"Rather what?" I asked suspiciously.

_"Depending on how you view it… rather superb_," R.O.B. admitted.

Okay. 'Depending how view it.' Chances are, I wasn't going to view it positively. "…and what exactly did this superb alteration accomplish?"I prompted.

_"It seems…"_ R.O.B. started, before pausing, tilting his head. _"It appears… From what I can tell…"_

"Are you stuttering?" I asked and the disbelief was evident in my voice to the point of a near nervous laugh.

_"No,"_ R.O.B. shook his head from side to side, a gesture that looked strange on him. _"I'm attempting to translate my wording into something easily understood. Though I'm not quite sure you'll need it."_

I groaned. "You're killing me with the suspense here! Spit it out!"

R.O.B. turned to stare at me evenly. _"I do not possess a mouth, so I believe that would be impossible."_

I snapped my fingers at him, using my other hand to pinch the bridge of my nose. "Okay, we _also_ need to work on your metaphorical skills. Please hurry up and tell me _what this all means._"

_"Assuming you are talking about my wording and not my metaphorical skills_—" I nearly facepalmed, _"I believe your brain has undergone a mutation to the point where—"_

I fist-pumped the air, "I have telekinesis?!"

R.O.B. gave me a strange look. _"…no."_

"I can read-minds?!"

_"…no."_

"I can FLY?!"

_"…obviously not."_

"Manipulate fire?"

_"…definitely not."_

"I'm invulnerable?"

_"…no."_

I dropped my arms. "Then what is it?"

_"Your ability to use your brain at the standard efficiency has increased. Or, due to the reality change, the standard for a human here is less than a human on your planet, and the difference allowed your brain to perform particularly well. How this truly affects you or your leaning abilities, besides that they have increased, I cannot tell."_

_"…what." _

_"You learn things more quickly than normal,"_ R.O.B. deadpanned in simple terms.

I stared at him. "…you're kidding me," I deadpanned.

_"No,"_ R.O.B. denied._ "I do not jest."_

"…that's my freaking superpower that's supposed to save my life?" I asked, disbelieving. I felt completely cheated of a potentially really awesome superpower. "I _learn_ really fast?!"

_"It is a useful skill,"_ R.O.B. told me, as if trying to convince that the most boring mind-alteration that ever existed wasn't all that bad, _"and is probably the only reason you're still alive."_

"Greeeeeeeeeeeeeat. Let me just _learn_ Tabuu to death."

_"How very threatening."_

* * *

**OH, BRITTNEY. DRAWING THE SHORT STRAW, YET AGAIN. **

**I just was thinking about how altered your body would have to be to travel _inside_ or two a different universe/video game to fit the perameters of this new world. Plus with magic and all that stuff, chances are you're going to be changed a little bit. Then I thought, kinda like John Carter how on Mars he could jump super-high and stuff, you'd likely be able to do things you couldn't before because the normalities of this world are probably different. So, I thought it'd be funny if Brittney had the chance of getting something really cool, and ending up with something really crappy and useless to the point of not effecting her at _all. _xD And of course, Bruce gets turned into a freaking pokemon, so, you know, he wins at life.**

**Anyways, even though it's only been a day, it was really awesome to see that some people are still reading. :) It really means a lot.**

**On one last side-note, two more chapters of character/relationship development and boring action and necessary plot progression, and then comes the action. :D Next chapter's Bruce/Brittney relationship focused and then the next after that will be Brittney/Pit relationship development and more on the freaking awesome character of Noel. Then, well, it's a Nuzlocke world folks. :P **

**A nuzlocke world.**

**UP AND COMING?! **I grinned. "Acting," I said, lifting one hand with each word. "_Reacting._"

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEWS!**

**LegendOfZeldaFreak: **:D I'm glad you enjoyed it. Most people tend to forget about Wolf, I've noticed. ^^ And I find him hilarious, if I wasn't really able to put much of his character in here. Maybe I can find a way to smush him in here some more before the end. Haha, glad I could inspire some amusement. :3 Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it!

**benpack97: **Sorry about the slow update speed. ^^ll I hope the multiple chapters make up for it? I promise updates will be coming at a much quicker pace. :) Thanks for reading, and I'm glad you're enjoying it! Thanks for the review, hope you liked it!

**Winged Fish: **Aw, that was really awesome tor read. :'3 Well, willpower does have a lot to do with it. I was actually trying to write some more on another story before I started this one, and it just wouldn't come, so I came back to this and BOOM. 30 k, easy. It's all about how much you enjoy it. :D Go with the urge, WF. Go with it and writeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! xD Well, everyone just loves beating up on our favorite winged avian. I think he'l be okay though, he's a tough kid. :) Hm, that's a really good point! I never thought too hard about it, every favorite Smash story of mine has always had one, so I dunno. :/ I will have to research it! Thank you so much for your compliments and your review, they really did make my day a little brighter. :) Thanks, and I hope you enjoyed!

***salutes***

-Fleet

**SIDE NOTE: **Lots of inspiration for the layout of the planet of Nintendo came from The **League** of **Legends** Vol 1 and Vol 2 by by Balladeer of this very site. It's one of my all time favorite fanfictions, beautifully and hilariously written, and I do encourage the read. It's fantastic, if the beginning's a bit slow. If I could recommend one story from this fandom, it would be this one. Go and enjoy, but it's not for young eyes. ^^ T for a reason.


	16. It's Worth It

_"You are going to learn how to fight from the basics,"_ Master Hand told me, two days later in the large gym that looked something straight out of the Hunger Games (but with less… killing children).

I raised my hand. "Objection! I can do that. I've spent the last two weeks doing that."

_"Yes,"_ Master Hand said knowingly, _"I have seen you fight. And your fighting technique revolves entirely around using the tools provided to you as opposed to actually beating your enemy yourself."_

"I don't really see the issue with that," I shrugged. "I use all my resources, so what?"

_"What happens when you have none_?" Master Hand asked simply.

I thought about Wolf and his battle and how close I had been to losing all power. How close I'd been to being left with a shell without use. There were several ways I could've responded to that question, and I knew instantly that none of them were going to earn me any points with the guy. I shrugged instead.

Master Hand flexed his long white fingers. _"That is why,"_ he started, moving out of the way and facing towards an open door, which a tall, ginger and very muscular man with a pointy beard emerged out of shortly later, _"I have recruited someone to help you learn the techniques to actual fighting—the basics that will improve your skills greatly. This is Jim."_

Jim waved, and I regarded him suspiciously. Master Hand turned back to me. "_Jim was one of the few personal trainers to the Smashers that remained at the mansion even after the war began. He will spend the next week and more if there is time to spare turning you around. I know for a fact that he is one of the best."_

I looked at Jim. I tended to not like men with pointy beards—don't ask me why—but he seemed nice enough. Maybe we could get along.

Approximately three hours later, I remembered why I didn't like men with pointy beards.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Sixteen.  
**_  
It's worth it._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Master Hand had met me in his office this morning—two days later as he said. He was interested in the whole 'learning' thing, and agreed with R.O.B. that it was probably the only reason I was still alive. Which made me feel _so special _inside. So, while Bruce was going to work with Noel, who apparently was a really, really good pokémon trainer, renown for her techniques, R.O.B. was going to continue repairing the armor, and I didn't even know what Pit was doing—I was going to work with Jim.

Jim was a man that made my hardcore, _if I had it my way we'd be doing two hours of abs like I did in college instead of just one so shut up _coach look like Bambi. We did shut up, by the way, but it was mostly because we couldn't breathe. That give you a good picture?

Okay, now multiply _that_ intensity by about fifteen-hundred.

"You seem like you're in pretty good shape," Jim said after Master Hand had vanished. He was looking down at the results from a physical I'd went to yesterday. "Well-muscled and such. A bit underweight, even though it appears as though your diet is horrendous."

"I was surviving off of little to nothing for a while there," I told him, defending myself even though my diet was pretty bad normally anyways. "I kinda went overboard when I got back here and the food was… really… really good."

"Which is why I'm not going to lecture you on nutrition," Jim said firmly, flipping the file shut. "And I'm going to skip the general 'getting you into shape' section of the next week and focus on teaching you technique and correcting your flaws."

Oh. Okay. That sounded resasona—

"But let's start with a warm-up, shall we?"

Said warm-up consisted of about 200 sit-ups, 100 pushups (which he corrected and I'd apparently being doing wrong my entire life and were actually less exhausting once he'd fixed them. Then, of course, I'd had to do another 100 to show him I really fixed it and promptly died), five laps around the gym, a five-hundred in the pool (which was fine), and ended with me seriously doubting the Smash doctors had fixed my lungs to 'maximum efficiency and health'.

Jim watched me from his chair, propping his feet up an sipping on a lemonade with an umbrella and bendy-straw, occasionally shouting insults along the line of _'my grandmother could do better than that, and she's been dead for forty years, god rest her soul,'_ which was totally a line from a movie I couldn't remember but irritated me all the same.

Finally, after three hours of me remembering why I hated men with pointed beards and him fixing all the general things about my running and other exercises and promptly redoing them until I got them right, we got to the general fighting skills.

"So, what can you do," my new trainer started, after we had moved over to a wide sparring mat, "besides use your suit and swing a whip?"

I shrugged, not bothering to correct him. "I can hit someone really hard on the head," I offered, only half sarcastically, because, _yes_, I had done that several times.

"And can you control this?" Jim asked, for once ignoring my sarcasm and actually going with it instead of having me do another two-hundred situps, "Can you determine if your swing will hurt, knock out, or even kill? Or do you just swing as hard as you can?"

There were several ways I thought about answering that question, and again I knew all of them were not what he was looking for, so I just shrugged. Again. Jim sighed, and motioned for me to stand up.

"Come at me," he said simply, once we were both standing and a few feet apart.

"What?" I asked, ever eloquent, giving Jim an up and down glance. He was ready for me, one foot slid back in a fighting stance and arms at the ready.

"Come at me," he repeated, and I couldn't help but add a mental, _bro_ to the end of that sentence.

"Like, come at you come at you?" I asked, just making sure I was actually getting permission to attack the guy.

"You have two seconds to make a move or you'll be doing another two-hundred situps," Jim threatened.

_Boom, boom!_ I lunged forward with a sharp punch and ended up flying heads over heels and onto my back, landing with a sickening _thump_ on the mat below with all the air knocked out of me. Jim's smug and pointy-bearded face leaned over me, giving me a look. I jolted to my feet, whirling around and ready to go again, irritated that I had been leveled so fast. The man wasn't having it.

"One lap around them gym," he ordered, and my body deflated. I did not enjoy running. "One lap and then you get to try again. We don't stop until you knock me down."

Oh, _crap. _"But—" I started, eyes widening. That could potentially last for a very long time, and as I got tired—

"Two laps," the heartless (insert swear-word here) corrected, giving me a look. "I'd get started before it turns to three."

Two fuming laps later, I found myself in the exact same position, not even having the time to register that I'd been flipped flat on my back again before he was telling me to get running again. This repeated about three or so times, before I finally fixed my stance so that I wasn't so easily set off balance by his push. If Jim was impressed that I had picked up what _I _was doing wrong instead of trying to figure out what he was doing, he didn't show it, just lowering my laps to one and giving me a few seconds extra to pick myself up off the ground after the fight lasted a bit longer than the last three.

All in all, I ended up doing this about twelve times.

It _sucked_. I was pretty sure this wasn't what the doctors had meant when they said 'rest.'

I couldn't figure out what I was doing _wrong. _

I frustratedly huffed as I ran around the lap, taking my sweet time. Jim hadn't said how I had to complete the lap, as long as I did it. He'd yelled at me before, threatening to increase the laps to five or six, when I'd tried to walk—but as long as I jogged, he didn't care how slow I did it, just that I did. So I used this time to try and figure out what I was doing wrong. I'd already fixed my stance, and I made sure that I kept my feet a good distance away from his so he couldn't knock my feet out from under me as easily. I shot a glare at him as I rounded the corner. He probably enjoyed this, confusing the heck out of me, not telling me what I was doing wrong, sipping his lemonade—

Holy crap. It was the lemonade. It _had _to be.

Okay, so maybe I did thirteen laps.

And okay, so maybe it _wasn't _the lemonade, but come on, give me a _break. _I was tired. Tiring as I went. Confused. Frustrated. Irritated. When was this learning fast thing supposed to kick in? Because I wasn't sensing anything different. I'd go at the guy, learn nothing, and end up flat on my back. Every single time.

Wait.

_Waiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit_ a second.

"Come at me, bro," I said, the next time around, sliding back into a fighting stance.

Jim raised an eyebrow—what was it with everyone and their eyebrows? "What?"

"_You_ come at _me _this time." I repeated, sliding shoulder back and readying my arm.

Jim shook his head, with a _tsking_ smirk that made my blood boil. "There's very little difference. Attacking and defending are two sides the same coin."

"Acting and reacting are two sides to two different coins," I insisted. "Come at me, bro." Because I couldn't learn if I didn't have time to register and see something to learn _from._

"I was doing it like this so you had less of a chance to get hurt," Jim said, even as he readied himself. "I have more control over my movements defending, and you're apparently supposed to be resting."

I didn't react. "Come at me, bro," I repeated.

Jim shrugged. "Suit yourself."

And then he attacked.

It was a blur of movement, a whirlwind of motion. I lost my ground quickly, stepping backwards to remain upright, arms flying to block the sudden attacks at my upper-body. One step, I pushed away his first arm, two step, I crossed my arm over the other to fend off his other arm, locking us together. Three step—Jim pulled back his arms, sending me reeling at the loss of support, and pushed.

I bent over sideways, feet firmly planted on the ground, avoiding the push and shoving the arms back with a toss of my arm. Then—my mind flew at a whirl, processing, learning, dodging the acts and _reacting—_boom, boom, BOOM! One step forward, one arm flying, two steps forward, other arm swinging, locked, three steps forward—_PUSH_.

Jim went flying onto the mat behind him.

I grinned. "Acting," I said, lifting one hand with each word. "_Reacting._"

Jim gave me a long look. I crossed my arms. Then—

"_Finally,_" he said.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"You got Jim?" Pit asked, looking apologetic between mouthfuls of pasta.

I nodded. "Eh, he's alright," I said, taking a sip of my water. "Once I figured out what he _wanted _me to do, that he wanted me to read between the lines instead of taking him literally, to stop listening to him and start listening to _myself,_ things got a lot better."

"What?" Pit asked, furrowing his brow at me.

"Pit still hasn't figured it out," Noel said as she slid into the seat beside him, patting him on the arm sympathetically. "Most of the smashers haven't—that's why most people hate him. They don't get it, and therefore he can't help them and they have to figure it out on their own."

"Do you hate him?" I asked, giving her an up and down look. She looked fit, and not the type of trainer to rely solely on her pokémon, so maybe she worked out too.

Noel gave a dark sort of grin. "We get along very well," she said simply.

She would.

I looked over towards Bruce, who was chilling with Noel's Joelton and Luxray I really hoped Bruce wasn't taking his transformation too seriously, because he looked like he was flirting with that pretty Joelton by the way they were running around mischievously and, _wow_, he was only six years old—

I choked on my water for the second time that week, nearly spraying all over the table. I caught myself at the last second; swallowing hard while Noel rolled her eyes and Pit looked concerned.

"You okay?" Pit asked, as Mary-Sue with gullibility issues as always.

"What's the date?" I choked out, as soon as I could speak again.

Pit shrugged, saying '_I'm not sure'_ while Noel deadpanned '_December 1__st__'. _

"Oh, _crap," _I said, staring at Bruce with a deflated and defeated sort of look.

"What?" The both asked at the same time in eerie synchronization.

"Bruce's birthday was the nineteenth," I said into my hands, burying my face. "Of _November_. We first got here a few days before and I completely forgot. I've been referring to him as six this entire time and he's been looking forward to his birthday and…"

Noel winced, sipping her coffee. "You sure he's noticed?" she asked, and she sounded like she actually _cared. _Whoa dere. Apparently she'd been spending enough time with Bruce while I'd trained so that she liked him more than she liked the average human-being.

I nodded into my hands. "Most definitely. I just haven't been _listening_."

Pit and Noel exchanged a glance.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"Now," I started, sitting down on the cool metal bleacher, placing the cooler beside me, "do you know what the date is?"

Bruce, who had been running down along the bleacher as we walked, gave me a look that clearly said, '_what do you think I'm a freaking Pikachu I can't ask for the date daily' _as he slid to halt beside me along the gray bleachers, sitting down lightly.

"Today," I declared, zipping open the red-bag, before peering around the empty stadium and at the night sky, "well, rather, _tonight, _is November 19th."

Bruce gave me another look, a completely unamused that said '_o rly?'_

I did my best hopeful _'just go with me'_ look back, before it completely melted. "Okay," I admitted, "so it's actually December 1st."

Bruce continued the look.

"However," I said confidently, removing the gallon of ice-cream and the two bowls (but only one spoon) from the bag, "because I am awesome, I can perform time-travel and make the rest of the night November 19th. Your birthday, by the way, in case you forgot."

"Pika-pika-chu, pikachu, piiiiiii…" Bruce told me. _(Of course I haven't forgotten, I've been trying to freaking tell you for the past week and a half.)_

"I know," I said, lifting my hands in surrender. "I know. But I think, since tonight is _actually_ November 19th, I can make it up to you. Through ice-cream, and, through, well—"

The lights to the stadium suddenly flickered to life and they obviously hadn't been used in a while, the lights dim and one not even turning on at all, but I grinned, sinking back in the seat as Bruce perked up in interest as one by one they came on. I slid the bowl of vanilla ice-cream over to him, adding some cream as I did so. The Melee Stadium, just a simple platform, was illuminated by the perfectly aimed lights; the net below to catch those knocked off was raised several dozen feet below.

From the opposite corners of the stadium, two platforms rose from the stadium floor. On one end was Pit, decked out in his brawl gear unlike the sweat-shirt and jeans that had looked strange on him earlier, who waved at us, while on the other was Noel, who was lazily tossing up and catching a single pokéball.

"Pika-piii?" Bruce asked, eyes wide, as he turned towards me.

I shrugged modestly, dipping my spoon into my own bowl. "It was their idea. Apparently, they like to beat up on the other. Brawls are fun to them."

Of course, Pit told me he'd dulled his blades beforehand, and Noel told me that she'd trained her Luxray well enough that it wouldn't maul her opponent _too _badly, but telling Bruce that would be no fun. Instead, we watched, chomping on our ice-cream as Noel tossed the ball and called out her Luxray which growled at a… surprisingly happy looking Pit.

I didn't really understand why Pit had said he'd loved being in Brawl until that night. I kinda got it, I mean, who wouldn't want to beat up on their friends and enemies alike every once and a while? But I didn't _really _get it. Pit was a warrior. He'd been in battles and faced enemies just as hard as and harder than I had during my week and a half. He'd been hurt and he'd been scared and he'd nearly died over and over and over again. But fighting is what he _did_, that was the point to all the games these characters had—fight to the finish. So the opportunity to fight and brawl people just as good, if not better, than him daily? Without one of them truly ever getting hurt, or being under threat of death, and to push each other to get better so when the next time came to fight to the finish he was better than before?

_'It's… really, really great.'_

"Pika-piiii!" Bruce squeaked, coming up onto his haunches as to get a better look at the fight that was unfolding. I spared a glance away from the fight—which was actually pretty epic—to look at him. I'd obviously scored some points with the guy. Who else in the world had seen an actual brawl? One with… with pokémon and lightning bolts and with… with… guys with wings and arrows that shone blue and disappeared on impact? How cool was that?

The Luxray dropped down, raising his haunches and baring his teeth at Pit. Noel shouted something I couldn't quite make out, and the pokémon shuddered before shrieking with a lightning-bolt powering from its super-charged fur. Pit narrowly avoided it, grinning as he did so, throwing a furry of light-arrows forward to drive the pokémon back towards the edge of the platform.

"See?" I said, looking over towards Bruce. "_That_ is how awesome you could look if you did a freaking thunderbolt."

"Chu."

"Why?" I complained, waving my spoon at him and wincing as the Luxray lunged upwards from a crouch, grabbing Pit's sandal from below and yanking him back down onto the platform, hurtling them both dangerously close to the edge.

"Chu-chu, pikachu, pika," Bruce said simply, so neutrally and serious that I had absolutely no clue as to what he was saying.

"Well then."

We watched the brawl in silence for a while, side the occasional comment from each of us. I couldn't quite tell who was winning.

"Sorry I forgot," I told him, voice so quiet I thought he wouldn't hear me, ice-cream laying forgotten beside us.

Bruce's ears twitched and he dropped back onto all fours, giving me a look, just a _look, _before turning back towards the brawl—completely reabsorbed in seconds.

I was forgiven.

Silence.

"…you want to go down and double team 'em?"

"...Pika."

* * *

**D'aw. Sibling fluff. :3**

**Clarification: Bruce and Brittney entered the game on November 17th, and have been traveling through the game for roughly two weeks. The game runs on the same time as the regular world does.**

**ONE MORE chapter of character development and boringness, before the action once again begins! We learn lots more on Noel, why she has pokemon that aren't even assists, something strange about Bruce and Brittney, Mast Hand delivers some critical information and arranges a final meeting, and then there's dancing lessons. :3 In a sense. **

**UP AND COMING?!** _"Oh, yeah. Completely," Pit nodded, smiling faintly. "They're friendly. They'll even help you out when you need it." He suddenly reached out and grabbed me by the arm, pulling us closer to the edge. "Come on. They've lit the stage."_

_"For what?" I asked, letting myself be pulled._

_Pit grinned mischievously at me. "For dancing."_

_"...I will bite you."_

**It's not quite what you think. ;)**

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEW(S)!**

**Draconis Kitten Sweetie: **Wow. Okay. Wow. Thank you so much for your reviews! I don't want to add another thousand words to this chapter by responding to all of them here, so I'll respond to the first one, and then respond to all the others, via PM. :D

Ahem. Well, it had been three months. xD And haha. You're the third person who's said that thus far. Right now, I'm not entirely willing to put them together like that, as it's very stereotypical of OFC stories and considering the end of this story wouldn't have a very happy ending, but, you know, you can view it however you like. ;) I think you'll like the next chapter in particular, on that note. I do hope your HW wasn't overly painful, and I'm glad you're stilling reading! Thanks so much for your reviews, and check your PMs! :D

***salutes***

**-Fleet**


	17. Digging in Your Heels

"I told you I could totally kick your arse," I told Pit triumphantly, grinning down at him in a totally way too pleased and rather short of breath way. He returned the grin with a short nod, picking himself up off the sparring matt and loosely rolling his shoulders.

"You've gotten better," he acknowledged, before that mischievous edge to his smile was back. "So what is that? Me three, you one?"

"Shut up," I said, not unkindly, rolling into my sideways stance, ready to go again. "You've been lucky."

We were sparring on the mats inside the gym about a week later. I'd finished my apparently last session with Jim last night, and while he couldn't teach me to be a freaking BAMF in roughly a week, I grudgingly had to admit he did help a lot. I felt a lot less vulnerable outside the suit than before, and, like you might've guessed, I had actually managed to take Pit down. Well, one time, but details, details—he had four years on me; I was proud.

Right now we were waiting for Master Hand to make an appearance. He had apparently told Jim to tell _me_ to meet him back in the gym in one week from then in the afternoon (which today and the time was) along with our super-four combo of myself, my bro, Pit and Noel. Again. As he hadn't actually said specifically what time to meet him, we'd all come here shortly after noon and after a sort of meeting that Melee inhabitants attended earlier this morning.

It had been a catching up on the world around us. More bombs had gone off, but not because of the bombs being produced by the bomb factory (which had been destroyed, if you remember), but because of some large cannon that was sticking out from one of the blasts. It had a huge reach, and could send a bomb nearly anywhere. Thankfully, Melee Mansion was protected by the force-field, and the earlier attempt to nuke us had completely failed. Noel, who was some sort of leader here, had sent out Lynn (an assist, and character from the Fire Emblem games) and two trainers out to Smash City to see if anything was going on there, and another small group to take out a small camp of the SubSpace creatures not too far away.

Now we were just waiting. Waiting and waiting and waiting for Master Hand to show up. Pit and I sparred, while Noel was hanging out a ways a way with her Luxray and Bruce, working with him on some sort of electricity attack.

I watched them uneasily, a bit uncertain about their apparent friendship and how much time Bruce had been spending with her the last week or so while I trained. Maybe I was a little jealous, but, you know, just my protectiveness acting up. Noel and I were friendly with each other, but we hadn't quite developed the friendship that Pit and I had. Maybe it would take a bit longer, but her rather sharp and aloof attitude wasn't making it very easy.

Pit caught his hand on the side of my shoulder while I was distracted and sent me spinning. "Hello?" He asked, looking amused. "We still doing this? What's up?"

I shrugged, rolling my shoulders and loosening my arms, shaking my head as if to clear it. "Yeah," I said, shooting them one last glance before turning back to Pit, more serious than I had been before, lunging out with a feint and a following knee kick. "You know Noel, right?" I asked tentatively, even as I rejected the quick strike Pit sent at my collarbone. "You're friends, right?"

Pit nodded. "She sometimes hangs out with the smashers I like to be with. Link, Marth, Zelda and Sheik… Ike and Charlie… Sa-mus," he kinda tripped over Samus's name, not looking at me, and I wasn't sure whether to feel irritated at the gesture or not. "We're friends, but not as close as some of the others."

"She seems to like Bruce just fine," I half muttered, partially because I had to snap my head back to dodge a particularly quick jab, and partially because there was some depth to the statement that might've been unfriendly.

Pit grabbed my hand, stopping my blow, and I tried to pull it out of his grip, thinking it to be part of the spar. When he didn't let go, I looked up, a question on my lips, and he was looking at me seriously. "Don't take it the wrong way," he said, quietly. "She likes pokémon, and people less so. There's—"

Of course, just as things were getting interesting, Master Hand showed up.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

**Warning Seventeen.  
**_  
They'll suck you back in, no matter how much you dig your heels in._

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Master Hand was shaky and looking worse for the wear as he appeared suddenly a few yards away over another empty sparring mat. Pit stopped his sentence instantly, shooting me a wide-eyed look, before we both dropped everything and ran over to where he floated. I could see Noel out of the corner of my eye stop talking abruptly as well, before raising a hand to tell Bruce and the Luxray to stay there as she quickly walked over.

We all crowded around the hand, and I found I couldn't say anything as Pit and Noel anxiously quizzed him, _are you okay? what happened? what's going on?. _The Hand's image was flickering, obviously unstable, and he was obviously not going to be able to appear before like this easily again.

_"It is becoming increasingly difficult," _was the first thing I registered Master Hand saying over Noel's sharp quips and Pit's increasingly concerned questions, _"to get past Tabuu's hold and communicate to you like this. It requires much energy."_

"You should leave then," Noel said instantly, sounding almost uncharacteristically concerned. "Save your strength."

Master Hand gave a roll of his knuckles that resembled a humanistic shaking of the head. _"I have news,"_ he said gravely. _"It is essential you get this information."_

"Okay," I said levelly, surprised at how calm I sounded, "get it out and then go back. Don't put yourself in more danger than you already are."

Master Hand paused, dipping in acknowledgment, and he seemed to hesitate before speaking again. _"Tabuu has become stronger," _he said at last. _"Much stronger."_

Well, crap.

"…stronger how?" Noel asked, almost tentatively, after a long moment of rather painful silence.

_"He stopped focusing on his kingdom's general defense and more so on his own," _Master Hand explained. _"He is no longer able to take damage by average physical means. It will be nearly impossible to harm him. His mental strength has increased to the point where no physic attack will be able to harm him."_

Well, crap. Again. There goes my only ride home. We'd screwed the game plot up so much that it was now impossible to defeat the final boss. Fan-freaking-tastic.

"So we're screwed," I said flatly, crossing my arms and staring into the headspace over Master Hand's hovering projection.

Master Hand again shook him. _"No," _he said slowly. _"Not entirely. Four Smashers have final-smashes powerful enough to cause Tabuu harm, two of which should wound him enough in one hit for him to be taken down by physical means. Tabuu can be harmed by pure-energy alone, and the light arrows of Shiek and Zelda, as well as Lucario's aura-storm all have enough traces of pure-energy to wound him."_

The disheartened we're-all-going-to-die atmosphere lightened somewhat. Okay, so there was _some _hope at least. Noel let out a breathy sigh of relief, and both Pit and I straightened somewhat at the news. "So we just have to find those three," Pit confirmed, "and find enough smash-balls for them to take Tabuu down."

Master Hand nodded. "However, Zelda is currently in captivity on the Halberd, and Sheik's and Lucario's whereabouts are currently unknown, even to the SubSpace army."

I raised my hand instantly. "Lucario's on some huge icy mountain!" I said, for once knowing something useful for once. "He's meditating. Meta-Knight and the ice-climbers run into him at some point, if they haven't already."

"There's only a few mountains in Central Nintendo that are tall enough to have snowy-peaks," Pit turned to me, looking excited at the prospect of a new plan. "Unless he's in a pokémon region?"

I shook my head, hair bouncing irritatingly. "Everything happens here. I think. I'm fairly sure."

Pit turned quickly to Noel. "It wouldn't take us long to narrow the choices down," he said to her, "we could find Lucario in less than a day, and then move onto the Halberd, easy!"

Noel wasn't looking at him though, instead turning her cool gaze towards Master Hand, hands on her hips. "You said there were three smashers with final smashes powerful enough," she said slowly, blue eyes narrowing. "Lucario, Sheik and Zelda—that's three. Who's the forth?"

I made a mental predicti—

_"Samus Aran,"_ Master Hand said simply, and every eye in the room turned towards me.

Of. Freaking. Course.

I met their gazes defensively, crossing my arms across my stomach, tensing up. "I am_ not _Samus," I said tersely. "I don't even have a final smash."

"Samus's is different," Noel said, fixing me with a piercing stare. "She uses the extra energy of the smash to charge the power-suit for the zero-laser. When without it, she uses the excess energy of the smash to reform the suit. It's not her. She just channels the energy."

"Of course she does," I muttered, shuffling my feet.

_"Potentially," _Master Hand said, jerking his fingers back in my direction, _"you could use the same technique. It's a simple process, and one guided by the smash-ball. You could use the zero-laser should you run out of options."_

"And right now," I said, looking up snappishly, "we have options. So no. That could very well go poorly."

There was a brief silence, increasingly uncomfortable as I found I couldn't read neither Pit's nor Noel's face, until Master Hand said abruptly, _"I need to speak with Noel."_

I shot a glance towards the redhead, who pursed her lips without looking at me.

_"Alone,"_ Master Hand clarified.

Pit and I exchanged a long glance, before he shrugged and we both moved away from the two of them, over towards where Bruce and the Luxray were wrestling—enough space to give them decent privacy.

"What was all that about?" I asked, once we had reached the new mat. Bruce tackled me as we got close, shocking me once or twice and generally making parts of my hair buzz with sparks. I patted him absently, before he shocked me for the third time and I bodily tossed him back onto the mat.

Pit shot an uncertain glance back towards Noel and Master Hand, half shrugging. "I think they're close," he said uncertainty.

"Close?" I repeated, peering over towards them as well. Noel was speaking animatedly to Master Hand, anger evident on her face as she snarled at him. Suddenly, Master Hand seemed to dip, as if leaning down to say something, and the girl's face crumpled, her arms wrapping around herself, obviously distressed.

"I think," Pit said slowly, "and no one really knows the whole story, they're mostly just rumors, he saved her life."

I turned my head back towards Pit in surprise. "How?"

"She…" Pit seemed to struggle for the right words, "her… her team was killed."

That was a surprise to me. I blinked rapidly. "What? I thought pokémon couldn't…" I trailed off, thinking of the games themselves and how the pokémon were always depicted as 'fainted' when they lost battle. You could always heal them and they'd be fine right after. "I thought they were part digital or something," I explained, after a moment.

"Everything can die," the avian replied solemnly. "Pokémon battles are risky business. One hard hit, and…" Pit shook his head. "Wild pokémon kill each other everyday, but most trainers and pokémon can control themselves enough to prevent killing blows. But sometimes, a hit lands just right, or the pokémon evolves or levels up and doesn't realize how strong it is, or the pokémon or trainer just don't care."

It hit me suddenly. "…it's a nuzlocke," I realized, eyes widening.

"What?"

"That's what we call it on my world," I explained. "A nuzlocke is version of a game when a pokémon faints in battle you're supposed to release them, simulating death. They're difficult. I tried one once. I didn't do so great."

"I guess you could call it that," Pit replied, voice a pitch softer than normal. "Either way, Noel was good, great, amazing actually, one of the best, but… no one really knows what happened. She nearly died too.

It was hard to think about, and I ran a hand back through my hair, pursing my lips. How many pokémon died a year? How many people risked training pokémon? How many trainers had lost their team and their own lives to something like that? "…how do you know so much about pokémon?" I asked instead.

"Charlie," Pit explained, lowering himself to sit down on the mat, watching Bruce and the Luxray spar with arms folded over his knees. "He and I are friends."

"The pokémon trainer," I nodded, sitting down beside him. I remembered Noel's initial interrogation, and how she had referred to (rather fondly) of the kid who I had always referred to as Red.

Pit nodded before continuing the story. "Master Hand recruited Noel to train the assist pokémon. She's one of the best trainers in the world, and he gave her a fresh start. New pokémon to work with."

"The assist pokémon?"

"Among others. She still has her own, and pokémon that aren't used in brawl but people drop off for her to work with and train."

"Oh," I thought of the Charizard Noel had with her when she rescued Pit and I from Wolf, as well as that fluffy Arcanine who I loved more than any other person right now and needed to go visit. "Like that Charizard and Arcanine? I know they're not assists."

Pit nodded. "Archie's her own—I think one of her oldest too—as well as the Luxray. The Charizard's Charlie's. Noel found her in trophy mode a bit of a ways from the mansion on the scouts."

"Oh," I winced. "I'm fairly sure that wasn't supposed to happen."

Pit gave me a strange look. "What?"

"In the game—" I explained, before remembering how sensitive those grounds were and stumbling over my word, "I mean—story—I—nevermind."

If Pit cared about my comment about _'this is all just a video-game and you aren't real' _comment, he didn't show it, staring into the headspace above where Bruce and the Luxray were tumbling. "…she's cold for a reason, Brittney," he said, after a long moment, looking over back towards me. "She wasn't always like that."

"Yeah," I said, staring down at my boots. "I get it."

Noel suddenly turned away from Master Hand, dropping her hands down into fists by her side. She stormed over to where we sat with a clenched jaw. "He wants to talk to you," she snapped as soon as she got close, glancing at me as she walked by, not even slowing down. I pretended not to notice how her voice just barely shook.

I got up after she had walked away, inwardly mentally preparing myself for whatever plot-development was sure to come next, walking with the same rigidity I had just seen on Noel seconds ago. I stopped in front of Master Hand, resisting the urge to cross my arms and instead folded them behind my back where my fingers locked together with a grip that almost hurt. I glanced up at Master Hand, not saying anything, waiting for him to start the conversation.

Eventually, Master Hand seemed to sigh, and dove straight to the point. _"The Smash Balls are in the hands of the enemy," _he said. _"They are not mass produced and are never give to the public. The only supply were kept at Smash Mansion, which was captured by SubSpace nearly a month ago._"

Oh. Okay. Wow. "That is a very big problem ," I told him, as if he didn't already know, _because our whole planned_ _revolved around using the freaking smash-balls to kill Tabuu._

_"It is a big problem," _Master Hand replied easily. "_However, I kept three smash-balls for emergencies in my private safe offsite, here at Melee."_

I gave him a long look, appraising. "Why are you telling me this?" I asked, because it didn't really make sense. "Shouldn't you tell Noel or someone who can regulate them and actually know what they're doing?"

_"Because it is very unlikely that you will be able to breach the SubSpace area without using all three,"_ Master Hand explained, and, wow, that was some serious foreshadowing about how difficult this was going to be.

"Okay, so what then?" I asked. "We'll be screwed without them, so we'll just have to get in without using them."

Master Hand hesitated. _"There is a supply of the smash-balls hidden in the SubSpace area_," he said, after a long moment.

The fact that there was a backup plan to fall on was the first good news we'd had in a while, even if there was a darker twist to it that might make it more difficult. "Okay. Fantastic," I replied, and for once I wasn't being sarcastic. This was good. This was very good. "Noel, Pit, Bruce and I—we'll go there. Then we have lots of spares."

Master Hand tilted his huge fingers as if giving me a long second glance. _"We?"_ He asked after a moment, sounding the faintest bit of amused.

I glowered at him, biting my tongue in irritation that I had been found out. I had been pretty set on getting to Melee Mansion then _getting out of the way, _but now—with a plan, and with the possibility of getting home— "…okay, fine," I said, exasperated. "Yeah. You got me. I'll go with them. Apparently you need my help. It's the best way to end the game."

Master Hand seemed to nod. _"You know of the danger. If the SubSpace Emissary learns of your plans, he will destroy the smash-balls, and lay traps for you."_

While the whole _'trap' _thing was alarming, I was distracted by the name. "Who?" I asked, referring to the SubSpace Emissary.

_"Tabuu,"_ Master Hand repeated, sounding confused. _"The SubSpace Emissary?"_

Suddenly, just like that, I got it.

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH," I exclaimed, eyes widening, mind blown.

Master Hand stared at me.

"Sorry," I fumbled, grinning like an idiot. "I just… it's the game title… I… sorry," I ducked my head, still trying not to smile. Oh, those writers.

Master Hand continued after a long moment, fingers curling as if sighing in exasperation._ "Again, if the SubSpace Emissary learns of your plans, he will destroy the smash-balls."_

"Then we're screwed," I said flatly. "We just got to make sure he doesn't find out. If he does, then, well, we'll have to figure something else out.

_"No,"_ Master Hand shook his hand. _"There is a way to activate the final smash without the actual smash-ball. The smash-ball acts as a trigger, a mental one, to make the transition easier."_

Oh, well. That was convenient.

_"It is a technique that takes years to learn,"_ Master Hand continued. _"None of the smashers are aware of its existence, nor do I believe they can perform it with ease."_

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Why are you telling me this then?" I asked. "You keep telling us things that won't help. You should tell one of the smashers who has the best chance of learning it quick enough."

Master Hand didn't flinch. _"I am," _he said solemnly.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three second.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Dude_," I lifted up a hand, stopping him from saying anything else. "First off, I am _not_. A. Smasher. Second off, there's a big difference between learning quickly, and picking up something that takes years in days, or minutes, or—"

_"—seconds,"_ Master Hand finished simply.

"No," I said flatly, and I wasn't even entertaining the idea for a second it was so unbelievable. "It's not going to happen. It's not _possible_."

_"Your lack of confidence is discouraging,"_ Master Hand replied.

"There's a _difference _between a small chance and impossibility!" I cried.

_"There is a difference between learning normally and quickly,"_ he countered just as easily.

"Yes, because the most boring and subtle superpower ever is totally going to be the difference between life and death!" I snapped.

_"It might be," Master Hand said seriously, and I just stared at him in disbelief because there was no way— "Raw energy. It is Tabuu's weakness—and it is why the plasma-cannon, the light arrows, and the aura-storm all have advantages against Tabuu: they all have traces, or are, raw energy. This technique, it is all about harnessing your _own raw energy_."_

"I don't even have a final freaking smash!" I said crossly. "Something like that, learning something that quickly, _it's not possible. _Maybe, _maybe, _if this 'ability' of mine actually made a difference—maybe if it didn't just have absolutely zero impact on performance then we could actually be talking about a small chance—but _nothing has changed. _I am _exactly_ the same._"_

Master Hand didn't even flinch. _"…everyone has one,"_ came the easy reply. _"Everyone's is unique. Not every gets to see their own."_

"I don't even come from this world!" I crossed my arms indignantly.

_"Neither does Sonic or Snake,"_ Master Hand replied. _"They do. Your DNA was altered to fit this world; you have a unique one as well. You've shown progression and abilities with a weapon—a whip—that takes years to master, you've survived up to this point, and at the touch of a teacher your skills have skyrocketed."_

"Since when?" I snarled, practically bristling. "I have yet to witness this 'sky-rocketing'. How do you even know what I've done this week? You've been gone!"

_"Since Jim,"_ Master Hand said simply, and I mentally kicked the guy. Pointy-freaking-beards—

"Stop being irritable, it's irritating!" Came the only reply I could think of. His reasonableness _was_ starting to get annoying.

There was a long pause, heat (mostly, well, almost entirely, from me) clear between the two of us. I lifted my chin at the floating hand, nails digging into the flesh of my arms and refusing to blink in the staring contest I would never win. Finally, Master Hand dipped.

_"…very well_," he said. _"I will be unreasonable and insist you come meet me here one final time in three days—after you have found Shiek, Zelda, or Lucario."_

"We might not be back by then," I warned him, annoyed by his calm attitude.

_"Then you must make sure you will,"_ he told me, figure flickering. _"Goodbye, Brittney."_

And he was gone.

I groaned dramatically, flopping down onto the sparing mat with arms and legs eagle-spread. Great. I had just gotten out-argued by a floating, giant, _hand. _Wow. My life—

Pit's fluffy head leaned over my line of sight, a hand reaching down to poke me. "What happened?" He started.

I smacked his hand away, rolling ungracefully to my feet. "Shut up," I told him, not unkindly, storming away. "I have a freaking zero-suit to find."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

"How's the repairs to the power-suit going?"

_"Well enough. I have been multi-tasking in its repair and the repair of the trophy-mode system."_

"So, repair time completion estimate?"

R.O.B. turned his head to look at me, camera-eyes focusing more clearly on where I sat on a stool, fiddling with a pencil hunched over a worktable. _"You wish to use it?"_

I scowled down at my pencil. "Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Don't act surprised. They need the power-suit to take out Tabuu."

R.O.B. whirred in interest before turning back to project. _"It is almost complete. It should be ready late tonight."_

I nodded. "That's good. Noel said that she, Pit, Bruce and I are leaving tomorrow. I wasn't real happy about Bruce coming along, you know, but leaving him here by himself isn't really a good idea here." I paused, before adding hastily, "Not that I don't think you could take care of him."

_"For where?"_ R.O.B. asked, tactfully not pursing the topic.

I winced. "…we're _apparently_ going to take out the helicarrier."

_"The what?"_

I froze, looking down at the pencil, before realizing my mistake. "Oh, crap. Wrong fandom. Meta-Knight's ship thingie," I explained with a half-laugh.

"..."

"I know," I agreed to the triple-dots. "We're screwed. It's probably impossible. And a suicide mission," I flicked the pencil up the slanted table, watching it roll up then slow, then back down towards me. "I'm currently in the process of writing my will. You can have the suit if I die."

_"That would likely be impossible,"_ R.O.B. told me, rolling across the room to retrieve what looked to be a miniature car-jack. _"The suit is connected to you and would likely deteriorate after your death."_

I paused, catching the pencil with a finger, turning in the swivel-stool and staring at him. "First off, that was a _joke_, second off, _what?"_

_"Further analysis of your DNA proves to reveal traces of Samus's own in your genetic sequence,"_ R.O.B. explained, as if he dealed with this kind of thing every day. For all I knew, he did. _"It explains why you can operate the suit without it completely shutting down."_

I stared blankly at my pencil. "…that is super freaking creepy," I muttered. "Why didn't you decide this was important information to tell me? I have the DNA of another _human being_ a part of me. "

_"It is less significant than the impact on your brother's DNA,"_ R.O.B. replied, probably taking my last comment as a question. _"He was actually turned into the exact Pikachu that participates in Brawl, with little variation for his own human mind. Secondly, Samus is not entirely human, but if there is any Chozo DNA mixed in with yours now as well, it is far too faint to be noticed or have an effect on your body."_

"You are so lucky I'm not drinking anything right now or otherwise I'd be spit-taking all over your metallic robotic body," I told him.

_"I am also fairly water-proof."_

I sighed. "…okay, well, ignoring _that_, what else does this DNA have effect on my body besides giving me the lamest superpower ever and traces of another person in my DNA that allows me to operate the suit?" I asked, reasonably wanting to know.

_"I have suspicions, but they will have to wait for your return,"_ R.O.B. replied, making me huff in irritation.

"Oh, fantastic," I grit out, flicking the pencil back up the table with a bit more force than necessary. "But I'm not just Samus from some alternate reality, right? That would be creepy."

R.O.B. didn't say anything.

I turned to stare at him. "Right?" I repeated.

_"Everything is possible—"_ R.O.B. started, after a long moment.

"—Oh, you've _got _to be kidding me—" I hissed, swiveling around to face him, brandishing the pencil threateningly.

_"—though the chance of this happening is similar to one of you being struck by lightning while thirty-feet underground,"_ R.O.B. finished, and everyone human in the room breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank GOD," I huffed, throwing myself over the metal table. "I feel bad for Bruce and all, being an exact copy of someone else, but I would _not_ want to be him."

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

The light-blue zero-suit was torn in the front beyond repair—it's hard to repair a piece of clothing stronger than Kevlar anyways—so I ended up zipping on the black zero-suit that night in front of the mirror, looking speculatively at myself. The black felt appropriate, but still a little out of place, and I wished the blue-one hadn't been destroyed in the abs area so badly.

Was it just me how my hair was a little blonder than normal? Was it the sun in the desert and outside that had turned my normally dirty-blond hair a little lighter, a little paler, than normal? Was it a trick of the sunset-glow lighting in the room? Or was it something else?

Another thing changed by Samus?

For her, as her?

The plasma-gun felt light in my hand. I was still surprised they let me have it back for the time outside training. I hadn't been carrying it around like all the other occupants of the mansion, I wasn't that paranoid, that keyed up for battle yet, so it was a little strange to feel the black-and-gray whip in my hand.

Samus's black and gray whip.

I zipped the last bit of the suit up, pursing my lips as I stared at the mirror (and with it, myself). It looked fine, if the colors were a bit different to my eyes. I kind of wished it didn't look completely normal on me. I kind of wished it looked foreign, that the heavy-in-the-front boots didn't feel right on my feet after the size-too-big boots I'd been wearing all week.

Slowly, I raised the gun towards the mirror and at the figure who stared back.

I couldn't—or wouldn't—recognize her.

I dropped my arm, abruptly turning on my heel and sliding the gun onto my hip a little more brutally than I needed to, forcing the sudden surge of anger back and lunging for my self-control. The door swished open automatically as I left, and I didn't look back, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose as I stormed down the hallway and out towards the grounds and past some unfortunate assist.

God. I was going to need some freaking therapy when I was done here.

**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**

Pit found me when I was adjusting the boots on the edge of a platform looking down into the outdoor fielded practice-arena (basically just a big stretch of grass with wooden stands surrounding it). I cringed as I watched him approach out of the corner of my eye, wondering if it was too late to pretend like I was actually leaving instead of starting—it was around sunset, after all. Not that I didn't like the guy or anything, come on, we'd consecutively saved each other's life over and over again, it was hard _not_ to like him—but I almost didn't want the only guy with wings catching my next move.

"Hi," He greeted, once close enough, significantly more cheerful than he had been in the training room earlier. "What are you doing?"

"What are _you _doing?" I countered, blatantly avoiding the question as I pulled the final laces tight and stood. "Enjoying the sunset?"

It was mostly a joke, but Pit gave a lopsided sort of grin in response. "Something like that," he replied vaguely, and I gave him a long, _okaaaaaaay, _look. "But you didn't answer my question."

Why did all heroes have to be so flipping smart? I sighed, before looking off over the bleacures at the orange sky. "s'gonnatryflying," I muttered, not looking at him.

Pit gave me a strange look, smile amused. "What?"

"I was going to try flying," I said slightly louder, and a hundred times more tentatively, giving him a sort of side-glance out of the corner of my eye.

Pit gave a surprised glance down the zero-suit, lingering his gaze on the boots. "Samus's jets?"

I nodded, frantically thinking of an excuse to escape. "It doesn't matter though," I replied hastily. "I'm terrible. I'm—I'll probably just—"

"Oh, you need help?"

I gave Pit a sharp glance, giving him a once over. As always, his face was endearingly open and honest. God. He really did want to help. He probably wouldn't even laugh if I failed. "…you can?" I asked suspiciously.

"Sure," he shrugged. "I can teach you. I know you haven't had much time to practice."

"…you won't laugh?"

"Nope," he promised, smiling. "Promise."

I hesitated, still detachedly wondering if it was too late to escape. It was a good idea, learning to fly, considering how many times I'd nearly fallen to my death the past half a month, but— "Fine," I said after a long moment, briskly moving over to the wooden ledge breaking off from the stands. "Let's do this thing."

Pit suddenly flung out a hand, catching me across the chest and stopping me from moving forward. He looked straight ahead, not even glancing at me as he said, "Wait."

I shot him a look, wondering if this was one of those strange video-game-world rituals or some voodoo-angel flying-man-ship technique of speaking to the wind or something. Or something. "What?" I asked.

"Just wait," Pit replied, voice quiet, eyes flickering over the rapidly dimming grass-lands of the arena. "They always come about around this time."

I glanced up at the sky, frowning at the orange sunset-sky. "Who?" I asked, curious, looking over the field as well. "I don't—oh."

Like little fireflies, fist-sized orbs of white light began to flicker to life across the grasses. The bobbed and weaved, flickering in and out in patterns I couldn't decipher, first only one or two, then increasing as a full minute passed until several dozen were floating around the grasses, casting glows over the shadowy arena. They floated around the field, poofing and flickering on as the night becomes darker, lighting up the arena with little dots of light.

"…okay," I said, voice hushed as if not to scare them away, after a long moment, "that's pretty awesome. What are they?"

Pit smiled. "I always liked them," he said. "They're called Luminescents."

I wished I had to armor to tell me what region they were from in Nintendo, but I didn't and I didn't want to ask as if I might offend them and cause them to vanish. "Do they… are the safe?" I asked instead, voice still at a whisper.

"Oh, yeah. Completely," Pit nodded, smiling faintly. "They're friendly. They'll even help you out when you need it." He suddenly reached out and grabbed me by the arm, pulling us closer to the edge. "Come on. They've lit the stage."

"For what?" I asked, letting myself be pulled.

The avian grinned mischievously at me. "For dancing."

"...I will bite you," I told him, narrowing my eyes.

Pit laughed, the sound quietly echoing about the stage. "And I was told _I_ was bad at metaphors. Flying, foolish mortal."

I grinned at him. "Is that what you call us weak humans?"

"Well, I am a heavenly being from above," Pit replied with a straight face. "Technically, you should be worshiping me."

I gave a mock sort of bow. "Oh, great and powerful, Pit. Do teach me your majestic ways of flight."

He flashed a grin at me. "Then let's go! Take a running start and jump! Don't get frustrated, or jump too hard—it's all about balance."

I gave him an _angel, please, _look. "I won't," I promised. Then, as an afterthought, I added, "I've been told I'm a quick learner."

And we flew.

Or, rather, danced.

* * *

**On Noel: you haven't seen anything yet.  
On Master Hand: it's a lot worse than you think.  
On Bruce: it's Bruce.  
On Pit: is the master of flight, obviously.  
On Brittney: needs therapy. and maybe some ice-cream. because it solves all the world's problems. **

**AND FINALLY NEXT CHAPTER WE GET SOME ACTION. FINALLY. GOD. Remaining chapters follow loosely as: Action/Tears, Badassedry all around/extreme action, plot/final game-progression/more action, sucks-to-be-Brittney/fluff/could-be-considered-filler-chapter-but-I'm-going-to-call-it-character-development, game-plot progression, game-plot progression, really-really-bad-ideas/game-plot progression, all-time low, the invasion begins/wake-up call, final-battle, endgame. **

**There you go. Roughly eleven more chapters to go. * head-desk* Why is this so long? STOP IT BRAIN. STOP IT.**

**Sorry for the late-update, school restarted and kinda _punched _me in the face. I'd like to say another update this weekend, but my sister's birthday is this Tuesday and I kiiiiiiiiiiiindaa agreed to write a story for her. Which I will probably make a lot more longer than it has to be. Because I am me. And I haven't even started. And I'm so screwed. Arghhhhhhh. Most likely, next chapter next (technically this) Friday/Saturday.**

**UP AND COMING?! **"Save it," Noel turned away, voice rough. "Your apologies mean _nothing _to me."

**IN RESPONSE TO YOUR REVIEW**

_Draconis Kitten Sweetie_: Well, this chapter was probably the most cute it's going to get in the rest of the story, so enjoy it. ;) I think. Well, there is that scene at the campfire with the hearts and how she (spoilers), and then on the Halberd when Pit (spoilers), or how about a the end when- (spoilers). Okay. So maybe there's a little more. Just for you. Haha. Sibling bonding is cute for most anything. :3 I must add some more. And little brothers, I know right? And if they make a fire-electric pokemon, I think many fanfiction writers would have an actual field day, haha. We're all holding our breaths. :3 Thank you so much for your review!

_bitByte: _Oh, you know. ;) A little incompetence here, a little walking into walls there-all mixed up with a little sarcasm, stupid ideas, and someone not knowing what the heck they're doing. Thanks so much for your review, and hope to hear from you again!

***salutes***

**-**Fleet


End file.
